


London Bridge

by fabricdragon



Series: soft as silk, stronger than steel [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Asperger's Sherlock, Autism Spectrum, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Demisexual Sherlock, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Everyone Needs Therapy, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Morcroft, Multi, Mycroft is a Softie, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Seblock - Freeform, Strength Kink, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Submission, Threats, Top Sebastian Moran, Trust Issues, at least about his brother, but they wont trust anyone to get it, mormor, my characters are out of control anyway, my fics tend to go off on their own, not entirely scripted out so it could go differently than i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Follows after Designs on the Web.Sebastian Moran, Sherlock, and Jim Moriarty have to retreat to England... which means dealing with Mycroft Holmes, along with the reaining members of the cabal that tortured Sebastian and Sherlock.  Among other people.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts).



They separated before reaching London, for safety: Jim and Laz heading to a safehouse, Sebastian taking Sherlock to see John.

“I don’t like it,” Jim had stated firmly.

“I still want a doctor I trust to look me over.”

Jim couldn’t argue with it, but he pulled Sherlock aside while Sebastian was taking to Laz.

“Sebie is an idiot, and he takes too many risks with himself,” Jim hissed quietly.

“I know,” Sherlock nodded.

“Keep him away from your brother.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “I’ll be trying to keep ME away from him. We don’t get along.”

Jim stared at him. “What are you talking about, he adores you.”

Sherlock was still trying to figure out what kind of joke that was when Sebastian pulled him away.

*

John got a phone call; it shouldn’t have sent him jumping, knocking over his tea, and damned near hyperventilating, but it did.

“Hello?”

“John? Are you alright?” _Sherlock’s voice, all calm and vaguely annoyed sounding._

“Just been worried about you.”

“Yes, well. We disabled the CCTVs for the moment; can you shut the blinds and let us in?”

“Shit! You’re HERE?!”

Sebastian’s voice suddenly, “Hi John. Please forgive him, he’s in a mood. Be out front in two minutes. Please close the blinds? We can only block the cameras for so long.”

Shortly after that he was watching Sherlock supporting Sebastian into the flat.  John rushed to get under his other arm, although it was awkward. Not for the first time, John cursed his height.

“I’m fine, Sherlock,” Sebastian said kindly. “I was a lot worse after we escaped, and I was ok then.”

“You’re an idiot, and I don’t believe you,” Sherlock huffed at him.

John stared.  For the first time he was hearing Sherlock talk to someone the way he talked to John and… _Oh my God, he CARES? That’s what caring sounds like on him?_

Sherlock noticed John staring as he helped Sebastian to the couch. “What?”

“That’s you caring, isn’t it?” John said suddenly.

Sherlock bristled. “Sentiment–“

Sebastian’s hand shot out and grabbed Sherlock’s wrist. “Quiet.” John heard the command voice and winced, expecting Sherlock to explode, instead he… shut up.

“How the…?” John stared at Sebastian. “Ok, who are you, really, because that’s black sorcery.”

“What?” Sebastian frowned.

Sherlock was glaring at both of them, but hadn’t said a word.  John looked at Sherlock,”Ok, how the hell did he get you to be quiet on command? No one can do that.”

Sherlock looked at Sebastian before he answered. “It’s complicated.”

John collapsed into a chair. “Fuck.”

Sebastian snickered, “Well, yes.”

John flushed bright red.

Sherlock did the injured-cat-dignity thing he did so well and walked over to look at the mantle.

Sebastian looked at John thoughtfully and then back at Sherlock. “Christ, Sherlock, did you never actually tell him you cared? I SHOULD have shipped you back to him in a box!”

“I never told you either, and you knew,” Sherlock muttered at a skull on the mantle.

Sebastian just groaned. He looked at John. “He adores you and would sooner cut his own throat than say those words out loud, okay?”

John just blinked at them both. “You… you two… um… you have a REALLY weird dynamic going on here.”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes. Yes we do. In any event, Sebastian wanted me to stay here for a few days, while he gets his ribs to settle,” he glared at Sebastian, “which I think is unwise given who you would be with!”

“You’re just jealous,” Sebastian sighed.

“YES I am; no, it’s not ‘JUST’.” Sherlock was glaring at him; John thought his head would spin clean off. “He HURT you.”

“Woah!” John held up a hand. “Sebastian? Staying with someone who hurt you is a BAD idea.”

Sebastian sighed, “It was an accident, he had no idea my ribs were damaged.”

“He HIT you!” Sherlock snapped.

Sebastian just raised an eyebrow. John hesitantly tried, “Do you need to talk to a counselor? People hitting you–“

“First of all, HE needs to see a counselor, but he won’t: he’ll only talk to me.” Sebastian glared at Sherlock, “And yes, he hits people. He doesn’t have a good idea of how to relate to anyone without lashing out, any more than you do: you lash out with words; he does it with fists.”

“That’s diff–“

Sebastian ignored him and looked back steadily at John. “Sherlock lashes out just as badly, and for the same reasons: they both shove anyone who gets too close away as hard as they can.”

“Sherlock, certainly.” Mycroft’s dry voice caused everyone to spin, Sebastian to twist and then hiss painfully. “You’re Colonel Moran then. I’m Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW Panic attacks.  
> this chapter will probably read a bit jumpily, but thats because you have individuals who are in the middle of confusing situations

“Oh, hell.” Sebastian closed his eyes briefly. “If you do ANYTHING at all–“

“Spare me the threats, Moran.” He looked at Sherlock. “Are you alright?” _He didn’t look drugged; God knows I’ve seen him strung out enough. He actually looked like he might have put on some weight, mostly muscle, but he was clearly very defensive and unsettled._

Sherlock pulled on his usual posture like a cloak, standing stiffly by the mantle with his hands behind him. “You are not supposed to be here until Sebastian left.” _Hiding his arms? Track marks of course, but that doesn’t seem right…_

“He’s not leaving–“ Mycroft started, trying not to add “ever” because Sebastian was a threat.

Sherlock snapped, “That is not your decision.” _Typical._

Sebastian spoke up. “Mr. Holmes? I wasn’t threatening.”  His voice was more tired, more relaxed.

Mycroft looked over at him. “You were discharged for drug dealing, my brother is an addict–“

Sherlock started and looked back at the mantle. John groaned, “Sebastian wouldn’t–“

“You believed he wouldn’t deal with Moriarty,” Mycroft said flatly. John winced and shut up.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow “You think…? Oh.” _A lot of the tension went out of him. He looked... understanding?_

“No,” he said in a much softer voice. “I gave Sherlock cocaine once”–he kept talking over John’s sputtering; Mycroft watched him intently–“because he had to be alert enough to drive or we were dead. Other than that, I was trying to bring him down.  It was somewhat more difficult because I was injured.”

 _He… he seemed to be telling the truth? The man seemed sincere, although it was unnerving to see him taking command of the room from a prone position on the sofa_.

“I will judge that for myself,” Mycroft said coolly. “You said you weren’t threatening me, but you certainly were.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was warning you. MY heir is watching the building, and he’s a lot more… volatile.”

Sherlock muttered, “That’s an understatement.”

*

Jim WAS watching the building–via camera.  Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to warn them before Mycroft was going in.

_The thought of Sebastian spending even one hour in that damned cell of his!_

“One false move, Mycroft,” Jim hissed, “and I start picking them off one by one.”

*

Sebastian was worried. Sherlock looked cornered, and he didn’t understand why he would look that way at his brother... _Unless his brother was abusive? He didn’t sound that way, but he had sent him to die…_ Sebastian watched as Mycroft turned away from him, discounting him from the obvious pain in his ribs, and probably from watching him being helped in.

_He wouldn’t know that was for Sherlock’s benefit._

Mycroft strode over to Sherlock and Sherlock backed up a step before standing his ground. _Oh, no, you’re scaring him._

~

“You’re hiding your arms, why?” Mycroft snapped.

“None of your concern, Mycroft.” Sherlock was practically snarling. _Stay out of it! Stay away from me!_

Mycroft grabbed one of his arms and yanked it around to look and froze. “Why do you have rope marks on your wrists? These are recent.”

John started moving toward him, “Sherlock?”

_No, no, no no they’d hurt Sebastian, they’d take me away, I’ll go mad…_

“Sherlock, he’s HURT you,” Mycroft said.  _His brother wouldn’t listen, he never listens, he always thinks he knows better…_

~

Sherlock was falling apart right in front of him, frantically yanking his arm back, backing into the mantle, looking around with desperate eyes.  John knew a panic attack when he saw one, but Sebastian wouldn’t have hurt him, he couldn’t have… _unless I was wrong?_

And Sebastian moved past them and pulled Sherlock around and away, reaching around him, grabbing both of his wrists crossed in front of Sherlock’s body, pulling him back up against Sebastian.

 _Pressure_ , John thought suddenly.  _When Sherlock had a panic attack he wrapped up in his coat, or in a blanket, tightly… pressure…. If you weren’t claustrophobic, it could help panic attacks…._

Mycroft was staring at them in outrage, and then in shock as Sherlock started to relax back into Sebastian.

“Sherlock, I’m here, it’s okay, breathe… in… come on, in… good, now out…”

“He’ll take you away….” Sherlock said sounding desperately lost.

“No one can take me away.” Sebastian said, calmly. “I don’t leave people who need me, you’re safe.”   John found himself relaxing slightly; Sebastian was always good at this.

“You talked me down more than once,” John said, nodding at Sebastian, finding his breathing slowed just listening to the man. “Sherlock? Are you alright?” Sherlock just shook his head.

~

Sebastian turned to face Mycroft, still holding Sherlock, his hands wrapped around both of Sherlock’s wrists. _Rope marks, restraints… but Sherlock was relaxing into him…_

“Why is Sherlock convinced you’ll send him to die, Mr. Holmes? I haven’t gotten a good impression of you.” Sebastian looked coldly at Mycroft. _That was clearly protective.  He wasn’t holding Sherlock as a shield; he was protecting him… Oh…_

Mycroft stepped back and held up both hands slowly, “I had to send him away; he didn’t even understand the danger. He was supposed to have been called back within a week, but he was kidnapped.”  Mycroft looked aside. “He… he never trusted me again after Serbia.”

Sherlock flinched and started breathing hard again. Sebastian transferred his wrists to a one handed hold and moved his other had up to his neck; he did it without apparently thinking.

“Mine,” Sebastian said quietly, not intending Mycroft to hear it, or read it.

“Yours,” Sherlock barely breathed.

~

“What’s going on?” John asked tightly, looking back and forth between them.

Mycroft locked eyes with Sebastian and Sebastian could see the pain, and the concern… _and a flash of understanding?_

“I see,” Mycroft said much more gently. “It would never have occurred to me, after…”

Sebastian nodded slowly. “He never told me, I never asked.”

“You KNEW?” Sherlock sputtered looking up at him.

“I’ve been whipped, Sherlock: I recognized the scars. When you were ready to tell me, you would have.”

“You’re wearing his collar.” Mycroft saw the shape of it beneath the scarf, when Sherlock lifted his head.  _This was serious, as if he didn’t know when he saw them together._

John was looking very confused, even more so when Sherlock nodded slowly, sinking further into Sebastian.

Sebastian nodded. “I need a doctor to keep an eye on me; Sherlock needs someone to look after him when I need to be elsewhere–I thought John was the best choice.  The question is: can I trust YOU?”

Mycroft looked at him. “First, if you cause any criminal or terroristic difficulties in England, I will be forced to act.”

“So noted.”

“Secondly, if you hurt my brother in any way, I will skin you.”

Sebastian smirked, “I won’t HARM him, in any event.” _Oh. I did NOT want to know about my brother’s sex life! I didn’t want to know any of it, damn it. Although if he was getting over Serbia…_

Mycroft snorted, “Too Much Information, thank you.  I believe you get my meaning.”

Sebastian nodded.

John just sighed. “Bondage?  Don’t look at me like that, you three. I may be slow, but I’m not an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all, bee having stress migraines like woah, so everything updating is running late because computer screens make me queasy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations and revelations.

Sebastian wrapped Sherlock up in a blanket on the sofa.

“John? Can you please keep an eye on him?” he said quietly, and then more normally, “If I don’t call in, we’ll be facing explosions.”

Sherlock groaned, “CALL him.” Sebastian nodded and slipped into the kitchen.

Mycroft frowned, “His heir is violent? Did he hurt you?”

Sherlock just snorted at him. “His heir is a lunatic; no; and ask him any questions, not me.”

“Your wrists are abraded–is he that careless?”

“Sebastian?” Sherlock looked offended, “No!”

John, looking at the ceiling, said, “Sebastian was always very good at talking me down from a PTSD attack or panic, and I saw him bring a paranoid junkie down. I can’t picture him being careless, but I admit I have no idea of his sex life.”

“Leave Sebastian alone!” hissed Sherlock, huddling further into his blanket.

“How about tea? Tea good? I’ll go make tea,” John said firmly and marched into the kitchen, making certain to make noise.

~

Sebastian was already texting as he left the room.

Don’t blow anything up, I’m fine. –SM

Mycroft is dangerous.–JM

He’s mostly panicked over his brother.–SM

Obviously. He’s still dangerous.–JM

I’ll be fine, back soon.–SM

One of the boys can pick him off as he leaves?–JM

Did you, or did you not, leave me running things?–SM

Fine. If anything happens to you I’ll have him stuffed and mounted.–JM

Sebastian rolled his eyes and put the phone away. John saw the look and smiled faintly.

“You know, I still can’t believe you worked for Moriarty,” John said, putting tea together.

“It was a long complicated story,” Sebastian sighed, “and right now, I’d like to stay away from it. Sherlock is doing better, but…”

“I need to examine you, right,” John nodded.

“Can you do it back in the main room? Sherlock will fret; he was already upset he couldn’t go to the hospital with me.”

“Sure.”

Sebastian stopped him as he picked up the tray. “He cares about you, Doc–a lot; he’s just pretty messed up about showing it.”

“You seem to have made more progress in a short time than I did in years.”

“Practice,” he said as they walked back in.

~

Sherlock was huddled up at one end of the couch, pointedly ignoring his brother who was seated on the chair.

“Practice at what?” Mycroft asked. _He was so worn down, he actually sounded tired._

“Talking to people who don’t communicate well and try to shove people away,” Sebastian said calmly.

“With Moriarty?” Mycroft sharpened slightly.

Sebastian just grinned, “So, changing the subject: John needs to give me a physical, and Sherlock hasn’t forgiven me for being in hospital yet, so I thought we could do it here.”

Sherlock had tensed at the physical, and then nodded. “Did you get through?”

“Yes.”

“Do I take it your heir is more likely to be a problem?” Mycroft asked.

“My heir was rather intent on having you shot; I said no, and reminded him that I was in charge.” He looked thoughtfully at Mycroft. “My orders only matter while I’m not imprisoned, though.”

Mycroft sat back with a snort.

Sebastian stripped and John gasped. Even Mycroft  stared. Sherlock mostly glared at  Mycroft.

John pulled his doctor face back on. “Well, that must have hurt.”

“Yup,” Sebastian said matter-of-factly. “If Sherlock hadn’t gotten me antibiotics, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”

“You… walked out under your own power?” Mycroft tried to sound casual. _If he had, the man was impressive._

Sherlock answered, “He walked out on his own, he helped me, and I had no idea how bad it was until later.”

Everyone was quiet for a while until John finished up. “Pain killers and rest, mostly,” he nodded.

“Planning on it,” Sebastian replied, slowly pulling on his clothes. “Sherlock? Go with John and get some food and tea made up, I need to talk to Mycroft.”

“I don’t think that’s a good–“

“Sherlock.” He let his voice slip into command. “Go with John and help make some food.” He stared him down. “And no eavesdropping.”

Sherlock glared at him. Sebastian just looked back at him. Sherlock broke eye contact and started looking aside. Sebastian continued to look levelly at him.

“Fine,” Sherlock muttered and stalked out.

John looked after him with his mouth open. He finally shut it and looked awed at Sebastian. “Sorcery, I’m telling you,” he said, then followed Sherlock out.

*

One of the two remaining cabal members had gotten word through an agent that the heir to the web, Moran the sniper– and possibly Sherlock Holmes– was heading back to the safety of London.

His cousin’s men had nearly broken Sherlock in Serbia before–if this Sebastian Moran had kept him? Well, it would be simple enough to take him back.  In any case, they knew where Sherlock must eventually end up, which meant Moran must eventually end up there as well.

He told his agent in the yard to keep him informed, and put his men on alert.

His former colleagues had failed to break Moran because they were too soft, relying on drugs and superficial damage.  Once he had the man, he would not be so gentle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Sebastian have a chat.  
> Comments are my life

Mycroft  grumbled, “He certainly listens to YOU; he never listened to me that well, even before.”

“Yes, well you aren’t sleeping with him,” Sebastian said as he eased into a chair.

Mycroft sputtered badly, “He’s my brother! Stop saying things like that!”

Sebastian looked over at Mycroft, “So why didn’t you introduce your brother to the scene before? It would have helped a lot.”

“What makes you think I could have?”

Sebastian grinned, “Oh, you ARE upset, letting that slip: the fact that you knew what I meant.” Mycroft winced. “That, and the fact that you obviously knew what wearing my collar meant.”

Mycroft sat back with a sigh. “Fine. Yes, I do have some experience with such things.  Are you serious about him? When he does let anyone get close, he’s vulnerable.”

“There are only three people who have ever seriously worn my collar. One has been dead for years,” he looked pained, “and the other… well, he has his own issues; I believe you heard some of it.”

Mycroft nodded slowly. “I have more casual relationships.  People I can trust to be discrete, and I belong to a club, but, given my work–and frankly, my intellect–no one else can keep up.”

Sebastian blinked and looked toward the kitchen. “Ouch. Yeah, it’s tough keeping ahead of him.”

“I’m shocked, actually. I would have thought bondage would be the last thing he would ever do.  He was imprisoned and whipped, among other things.”

“He was coming down off some of the purest heroin in the trade. They shot him up… Well, it was bad.” Sebastian nodded. “Endorphins and adrenaline combined with the sex are actually much better than methadone–IF they have a taste for it.”

He looked at Mycroft. “To put it bluntly: your brother is an addict; he will always be an addict–I just have him addicted to something safer, as long as he has a responsible top.” Mycroft nodded, and then Sebastian added, “A responsible top who also knows to keep an eye out for issues.  He only ever safeworded once, and he’ll let me flog him unconscious.”

“I don’t need to hear–“

“YES, you do,” Sebastian said firmly. “You can’t understand what’s going on unless you do.  Thankfully, you appear to have some clues.” He sighed. “HOW much do you know? Enough to get the psychology if I give you the basics?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, pained. “Not that I want to.”

“Alright. Sherlock needs bondage, pressure, security–he HATES being loose and unrestrained: he’ll start to panic.” Mycroft blinked a few times and nodded slowly. “That doesn’t have to be sexual; you and John can use that to help him out.”

“I had noticed something of that.  His music helps also...”

Sebastian nodded, “Yes, I remember from when we were observing. He probably should bring his violin.” He shrugged, “Anyway, he’s also a major endorphin junkie. I was betting on it, based on the drugs, and I was right. He hasn’t had any temptation, even when I left drugs out, once he started getting regular floggings and sex.”

Mycroft was listening; he just looked pained and embarrassed.

“Do you have issues with the topic? Or the person?”

“I have issues discussing my baby brother’s sex life.” Mycroft winced.

Sebastian sighed. “Unfortunately, if you want to be involved in what’s going on with him? This is a big part of it.  To be blunt: I like domination, I’m GOOD at it, and I have a major caretaker kink.  The problem is I also have a major competency kink.  The two often end up being mutually exclusive. Sherlock hits them both.” He sighed again, “I also end up with a lot of people I probably shouldn’t try to rescue…”

Mycroft had been sitting forward intently for the last few sentences. “Moriarty.”

“What?” Sebastian realized he’d been careless and sat up. _Damn pain’s making me foggy._

“Competent, but badly damaged…”

Sebastian shut down hard. “Don’t go there.”

Mycroft nodded. “Trying to rescue people you shouldn’t. I wondered how Doctor Watson’s ‘good, honorable, kind, caretaker friend’ could be Moriarty’s sniper and heir.  Trying to rescue him would have dragged you in deep before you knew what hit you.”

Sebastian tried not to let it show, but he bristled. He looked toward the kitchen. “Sherlock?” he said raising his voice a bit. “Your brother’s annoying.”

“I could have told you that! In fact, I DID!” he called back.

“Not ‘Sir’?” Mycroft couldn’t help but ask.

Sebastian snorted.

John and Sherlock came in with sandwiches and tea, and some biscuits. Sherlock glared at Mycroft. “Stop staring at my collar.”

John rubbed his forehead, “Right. So, Sebastian, are you staying here?”

“No, I can’t. In addition to Mycroft, there are a lot of other factions that would go after me right now. I need to vanish.”

Sherlock stared at him. “You are NOT leaving me here to go running off to HIM.”

“I’m NOT, Sherlock. I just wanted to be sure they knew you were alright. Can you stay here for a day or two?”

Sherlock sighed, “ONE day–after that, I’ll get bored.”

Sebastian nodded. “One day, catch up with your friends. Now go get your stash and hand it over.”

“There isn’t any here,” John protested.

Mycroft nodded, “My brother was clean until–“

“Sherlock?” Sebastian just looked at him.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “It was just in case.”

“Just in case you get bored in one day.” Sebastian nodded, “That’s why you’re handing it over. Go.”

Sherlock looked tense but went out of the room.

“He had drugs here?” John looked stunned

Mycroft stared after him, “WHEN? My people searched…”

Sebastian  looked at them both and lowered his voice. “This will be the first time I’m not here, and he’s back where he knows the territory. I didn’t just bring him to see you.” He looked pointedly at Mycroft. “There are two left. My information says one of them is in London.”

Mycroft stared at him, “You think he’ll try to get drugs?”

“I think they’ll try to throw temptation at him,” Sebastian looked pained, “and I need to know how well he can handle it when I’m not there.”

Sherlock came back in with a bag. “That’s it.”

Sebastian shook his head. “ALL of it.”

“The rest is for experiments, not for–“

“All of it, or it’s elevator music.”

He flinched. He went into the kitchen and came back with another small bag.

Sebastian handed it to Mycroft. “Get rid of this, will you?” Mycroft nodded.

Sebastian pulled Sherlock into a kiss that made John’s eyes pop, and Mycroft flush and look away. “Be good.” He smiled at him.

“You do know me, right?” Sherlock snorted.

“Look after him, Doc.”

“I always have.”

And Sebastian walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a note:  
> Hubby has doctors all day today so we are still catching up on proof reading


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet conversation, that two of them don't want to have.

Greg Lestrade had found himself, yet again, adjusting security on the flat at Baker Street. Mycroft and Sherlock were going to drive him insane, he knew it.  Apparently Sherlock had been found, and was back in England, along with some other fellow Mycroft was concerned about.

Greg got his people on the detail and started preparing to discretely tail anyone new in the area of the flat, and Sherlock, of course.  Apparently he’d been drugged and Mycroft was concerned about a relapse.

_I hope not, I don’t think pulling him out of another drug den would be good for any of us._

*

The silence in the flat had been painful.  Eventually, Mycroft cleared his throat and said, “He… seems to care for you; I’m glad.”

John sighed, “I just wish I knew how he got mixed up with Moriarty.”

Mycroft answered, “He didn’t mean to, but he told me that.”

Sherlock snapped his head up. “How?”

“He said he has a need to care for people…”

“Caretaker kink, he said,” Sherlock nodded, “and an attraction to competency and intelligence. He said it was rare to find someone who matched.”

“Not uncommon for military people,” John said, sipping his tea. “Can I ask a side question?  Everyone says Sherlock has a collar on; I assume it’s under his scarf– but I’m apparently the only person without X-ray vision.”

Sherlock snorted in what John recognized as an affectionate fashion and took off the scarf.  He had to open his shirt a bit for them to even see it: it rested very low on his neck.

John blinked a lot. “That looks different than any I ever saw…”

Mycroft frowned, “That’s custom made, and shaped, and designed to be worn so it hides under your clothing…” He looked at Sherlock, “But you’ve been wearing it for a while. When did he have time to have it made?”

Sherlock sighed and sat down, pulling the blanket back around himself. “He didn’t.  He inherited the collar; the plate is his.” He tapped an engraved plate. “The collar was made by Moriarty, before.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he hissed. John stared at him.

“Moriarty? Had a collar custom made for you? When?! Wouldn’t that take, like, measurements?” John sputtered.

Mycroft stared intently at Sherlock. “Explain.”

Sherlock looked down, “Jim apparently had a… fantasy? A plan, I suppose, at one point of kidnapping me.” He shook faintly and tugged the blanket around himself. “He was… He wasn’t planning on my having a safeword, let’s just say that.”

Sherlock looked calm, until you saw the trembling in his hands.  Mycroft remembered what Sebastian had said and got John’s attention.

“John? Could you please help wrap my brother up a bit more–“ He expected to have to explain it, but he saw that John understood:  he moved over to Sherlock, pulled the blanket tighter, and wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock tried to move away and John simply pulled the blanket more snugly. Sherlock eventually settled.

Mycroft tried to speak more gently, “Moriarty had plans for you? And he left the collar?”

“Sebastian inherited everything,” Sherlock said quietly.

“You have a safeword? Does he listen? He said you only used it once.”

Sherlock flinched. “I – I never had to before. Anytime we got…Anytime I was unhappy he either did something so wonderful I didn’t mind, or he stopped before I could say anything.”

John was nodding. “Just so you all know, I may not be into that sort of thing, but  I have treated people, and I knew some people who were.” He shrugged, “One of my girlfriends liked handcuffs, for instance. I understand safewords.” He hugged Sherlock more tightly. “Why did you have to use it that time? What happened?”

“His heir walked in,” he said from inside a blanket.

Mycroft frowned. “You said his heir is a lunatic. What happened?”

“I– I thought that Sebastian had set it up. That it was a trick.” Sherlock burrowed more into the blankets. “I should have known better but I thought… I thought he’d betrayed me.”

Mycroft tensed. “And?”

“I used my safeword, even though I didn’t think it would work.” Sherlock didn’t look up. “And he cut the ropes and wrapped me up in a blanket and… and it wasn’t a trick.  His heir had only just managed to catch up to him after we escaped and he’d gotten him the doctor…”

“Wait, what?” John asked. “Doctor?”

Mycroft nodded, “James and a woman traveled to Italy.  Of course his heir would be running things while he was imprisoned, he said that.” Mycroft looked thoughtful. “So I was getting information from his heir?”

Sherlock nodded.

John said, “Okay, so you thought this scary guy walking in was a set up? Because Sebastian knew him?” Sherlock nodded again. “And you thought he wouldn’t... untie you?” Sherlock nodded again; he looked guilty from what John could see. “So you used your safeword and Sebastian stopped everything because it wasn’t a set up.”

“Exactly.”

~

“Why would Sebastian pick a lunatic you’re scared of for his heir?” John sounded confused. “For that matter, I don’t know why Sebastian stayed or even dealt with it.” He looked at Mycroft, “You said you understood?”

Mycroft nodded. “Sebastian said he was prone to trying to rescue people, even unwisely.”

John nodded, “James said ‘The Colonel and his junkie strays’, right before pointing out Sherlock was more than that.”

“He’s attracted to intelligent, competent, people who need help,” Mycroft said, looking thoughtfully at the blanket Sherlock was buried in.

Sherlock was curling up even more into the blankets, John nodded.

“I think he tried to rescue Moriarty and got sucked in.”

John’s eyes widened, “Oh! Oh, I’ve seen that. People convinced they can help and they end up getting pulled down…”

Sherlock nodded, “Makes sense.” You could barely hear him through the blankets.

Mycroft frowned, “But his heir… His heir is a lunatic, and volatile…” his eyes sharpened, “and wanted to hurt you–didn’t he, brother mine?”

“Essentially,” came the muffled response.

“His heir is the other person wearing his collar, isn’t he?”

John stared, and then looked down at Sherlock because the blanket was nodding. John looked back at Mycroft, “Running off to be with HIM?”

“His established sub, suddenly walking in on Sherlock Holmes? With his dom? Wearing his collar? That must have been difficult.”

John managed to untangle Sherlock enough to hear the answer, “Not talking about it.” Then, reluctantly, he said, “Sebastian wasn’t threatening you, Mycroft. His heir didn’t want you near him, and he’ll kill all of us. He’d cheerfully kill me if it wouldn’t upset Sebastian.”

Mycroft nodded slowly, “I can see Sebastian’s good with you. I take it he’s good with him, too?”

Sherlock frowned. “I guess? It’s different.” He shook his head. “The more you know, the more likely this is to blow up. Damn it! HE needed the doctor. Why did he leave me here?”

John looked down at him, “Maybe because he knew we needed to see you?”

Sherlock muttered, “You saw me.”

Mycroft looked thoughtful, “A volatile, and damaged individual; intelligent; and, as you said, a lunatic–who is his heir? I suspect he thought you would be safer apart.”

“Compound explosives.”

“What?” John asked.

“He said we were like compound explosives: needed to be stored separately,” Sherlock admitted. “They hadn’t seen each other in a long time, and then Sebastian was kidnapped… I… understand they want time together, I just…”

John nodded, “You just want to be there, especially if you worry about Sebastian?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Now you know how we feel when YOU go running off to do something WE think is dangerous.” John sighed, looking over at Mycroft.

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, “About that, yes.  I’ve always tried to keep you safe, even if I fail more often than not.”

“If Sebastian gets hurt– by him, or by you, Mycroft–I will burn their world down around them,” Sherlock growled; then he sighed, “And, as much as I hate to admit it, his heir feels exactly the same way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a note: Sherlock is hiding in the blanket at least in PART to keep information away from Mycroft.  
> Mycroft is rattled enough by the fact that this is his baby brother's sex life (And suddenly it's connecting with his own BDSM interests) that he isn't on top of things as much as he should/could be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> apologies, betrayals, and tragic pasts

Sgt. Donovan sat down to lunch with her new boyfriend and promptly started going OFF about the fact that the Freak was back–with some new boyfriend– and, according to Lestrade, they were all looking the other way even though he’d finally snapped and killed someone. “And all the previous stuff? They’ve got everyone convinced he was framed, even though–“

“Well, as you said, it’s obvious he must have political connections,”  Adrian nodded at her.

 _God, she loved his accent: it was so damned sexy._    “Obviously,” she snorted, “and Watson is going to take him back, even though he’s seeing someone else, now. His wife getting killed is just TOO convenient, you know? I bet Sherlock killed her to keep him on a leash.”

“I’ve heard some rumors that he’s associated with organized crime.” He lowered his voice. “He probably could get someone killed like that.”

“I believe that.”

“Look, I shouldn’t tell you anything, but… my cousin has some connections in the government, hunting down international issues, and he said that Sherlock Holmes was in Serbia during the time he was missing here, among other places… and causing a lot of trouble.”

She leaned forward. “And?”

“And if you hear about Mr. Holmes, or any of his new friends? Let me know. I happen to know a few people who would be very happy to extradite him–officially or not.”

Sally smiled darkly, “I think I could manage.”

“You have my number…”

Adrian–Jadranko– made a point of setting a date for her next day off, and, as soon as she went back to work, called the information in.

“Sherlock is back, and apparently Moran was seen with him.”

“At the Baker Street location?”

“Yes.  Our useful contact will be keeping an eye on it, but we need people ready to move.”

“Good.  Don’t bait the addict out, then.  I want him in a set location: Moran will come to him.”

*

Mycroft reluctantly left; he’d dropped everything on his schedule to be there when Sherlock came home.

He quietly told people to increase security on the Baker Street flat and tried to think. It wasn’t often that he admitted to being in over his head, but interpersonal relationships were always difficult.

Sebastian Moran was very clearly a lifestyle dominant; Sherlock had been living with him and was wearing his collar, so for all intents and purposes they were engaged.  He spared a moment’s thought to trying to break the lack of grandchildren to Mummy again, and backed away from that.

Fact: Sebastian had an established sub, his heir, another damaged soul he’d picked up along the way. He had to admit that Sebastian was right about Sherlock: he used words to shove people away– of course, so did Mycroft.  The fact remained that his heir had been apart from him–obviously, when Sebastian was captured– and when he got back to his dom it was to find out that he now had a new party in their relationship: Sherlock.

Understandably, he must be hurt and furious, and Sebastian was trying to go reassure him– which left Sherlock out in the cold.

An utterly miserable situation, even without the addition of international crime, terrorism, and security concerns.

 _I don’t WANT Sherlock mixed up in this_.  He had to admit, though, that Sebastian had a point: his brother was addicted– just right now, he was addicted to something safer– and Sebastian was providing the kind of structure and control that Sherlock desperately needed.

He’d let it go with his blessing if it weren’t for the fact that this was the heir to Moriarty’s empire and all that it entailed.

It had been over three months since Mycroft had been able to make an appointment with any of the submissives he usually dealt with; the last time, he’d been called away as he was just leaving his office to go to the appointment.  It would of course work much better if he had someone who could live with him, but while the people he hired passed basic background checks, he couldn’t admit who he was to them, or allow them into his home.

Not after the debacle with his last live-in.

Mycroft once again tried to content himself with the knowledge that his ex-lover was dead and HIS lover was serving a life sentence for espionage. _Sigh. They’ll eventually trade him or turn him.  I did make it clear I would never work with them._

He idly wondered if Ms. Adler had seen through to Sherlock’s interests. He doubted it, since Sherlock apparently hadn’t known himself. Probably what attracted him to her, though.  _She’d seen that I was interested, but the fact that she was unwilling to play the switch– and was completely untrustworthy– would have ruled her out as a temptation._

Mycroft shoved any attraction to Sebastian firmly out of his mind.  The man didn’t have a submissive bone in his body, and besides, dating his brother’s dom would be a disaster. Sherlock had just about threatened to behead him over his attraction to Watson, after all.

Anthea told him his next meeting was ready and he went back to work. Sentiment was a weakness, and all these chemicals were making a mess of things.

*

“I hate him!” Jim hissed almost as soon as Sebastian came in.

“Who this time, Boss?” Sebastian sighed.

“Pick one!”

“Let’s talk about it in private, Sir,” Sebastian sighed, and followed Jim tiredly across into the private rooms.  He must have been scaring the guards again: they were all looking at him like this was the last time they would see him alive– especially Laz. Of course, Laz wasn’t used to living in close proximity to Jim; the rest of the men here were Jim’s hand-picked, and the majority of the people who knew he was still alive.

They both kept it up until they were behind two layers of soundproofing in Jim’s quarters, at which point he was plastered all over with Jim.

“You even SMELL like Mycroft! Into the shower!” Jim snarled.

“How can I smell like Mycroft?”

“It’s that damned expensive cologne–that, and the faint smell of tweed. Get it OFF!”

They got into a shower and Jim rather aggressively scrubbed him; he had to remind him to be careful of the ribs.

“I think he uses a scented soap or a hair treatment, too– it’s distinct. Why do you SMELL like him Sebie?”

“I think you’re imagining things, Jim. You need to calm down.” Sebastian took a firm grip on his wrists and pushed them against the shower wall. “Stay.”

Jim did, but he kept talking jerkily. “I can’t stand it, I want to have Sherlock tied up in bed but *I* want to touch him, while you do…. Ooooh… yes, that,” Jim moaned. “to me. And I need to murder Mycroft.”

Sebastian, having his mouth occupied, could only listen as Jim went on a less and less coherent rant about torturing Mycroft. Eventually, Jim stopped talking and was back to panting and moaning.

“Hot water’s almost gone, Jim. Come on, towel and bed.”

“… Kill him… he hurt me…”

“And whose idea was that? Hmmm? I told you not to do it.”

“I beat them! They never saw a crack…” Jim trailed off as Sebastian started securing him to the bed.

“No, they didn’t, but you’ve been obsessed and frightened about Mycroft ever since–“

“I AM NOT FRIGHTENED!” Jim shrieked suddenly and started struggling.

“Shhhhh…. Shhhhh… No one knows but me, Boss. It’s alright.” _Sigh. Great, I’m not going to get any work done for days._

“I need to kill someone, Sebie.” Jim said calmly after he was secured down.

“Yes, well, I’m sure we can find you a spy or a traitor, Jim, but not tonight.” Sebastian sprawled over Jim, letting his weight settle him into the bed.  He fell asleep to Jim licking his neck and cheek.

Anyone else would have had their throat ripped out.

When Jim woke up he was better. He apologized to Sebastian in the only way he knew how– in private.

“Jim, I don’t–“ Sebastian cut off with a moan.  Jim laved over old wounds with his tongue, ran his hands over the spots that got tense, and kissed him until Sebastian was relaxed and as vulnerable as he ever was.

“You could have told me,” Jim murmured into his neck. “I HURT you, Sebie, because I didn’t know.”

“You know what I’m like, Jim. We all have our issues.”

“Sherlock can’t take care of you.”

“We haven’t known each other that long, Jim.” Sebastian sighed, “It’s not a competition, either.”

“He was mine first.”

“You were playing with him, but he was never yours; you just wanted to break him.”

Jim sighed, “He was so much like me.”

 _And you always wanted to hurt yourself, didn’t you?_ Sebastian looked down at Jim. “You always needed more than I could give, Jim.”

“No,” Jim murmured into his chest. “You’re the only one who ever gave me what I needed.”

Sebastian sighed, and petted Jim’s hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft once again tried to content himself with the knowledge that his ex-lover was dead and HIS lover was serving a life sentence for espionage.   
> why yes... Mycroft had a longer term relationship... it ended baadly


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come here, John, I have to lick you.”  
> PS. yes most of the other countries would use patronymics, not first names. I'm America and i mess that up all the time, just pretend

Jim slipped out as soon as Sebastian went back to sleep.  The fact that he had gone back to sleep was proof enough that he needed to rest. James Moriarty was dead and gone, but Eddie River–small time bookie; adequate knife man; minor cog in one of the innumerable London criminal groups– was well known and quite alive.

 _Just a minor government functionary, Mycroft?_ Jim smiled to himself as he walked through London, hands in his worn pockets, ill-fitted suit making him look even smaller than he was _. And I’m just a small-time crook._

*

Sherlock had been sprawled motionless in his chair, thinking, for hours before John came downstairs. Jim was a threat to John–and to Mycroft of course, but his brother could handle himself– and there HAD to be a way to protect him.  His being under the protection of Sebastian had held so far, but Sherlock was determined to find a way to add to that.

“How long have you been up?” John asked.

“Hours.”

“Worrying about Sebastian? I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“No, worrying about you.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Okay, why now?”

“His heir… I am fairly certain that he won’t do anything OBVIOUS against you, since Sebastian is a friend, but I’m trying to figure out a way to dissuade him from anything subtler.”

“Do you think he’s likely to?”

“I wish I knew. He’s incredibly difficult to predict.”

John whistled. “Okay, why would he bother me? I mean, for what reason?”

“Tradition?” Sherlock muttered, and then, “To strike at me? Since he can’t do so directly.”

“Well, you said he can’t strike at ME directly, so why wouldn’t he be able to do subtle stuff to you? What’s stopping him?”

 _John had done it again:  shone a light–illuminated the answer_ – “BRILLIANT!”

“Umm… okay, so what–“

“Come here, John, I have to lick you.”

John stared at him. “What did you say?”

“I have to lick you!  It’s a custom of theirs, and he respects it, so if I lick you then–“

“Is this some kind of a joke?” John said backing away slightly.

“What? Certainly not. It’s not my fault they both act like they’re five.” Sherlock snorted. “But Sebastian licked me first and that made a difference.”

“You are not telling me that…”

*

Branimir–Jadranko’s boss and one of two remaining members of the Cabal– was overseeing the setup personally.  They had found a factory that was currently shut down while the property changed hands: it was old, had heavy beams, and sound wouldn’t carry.  Just to be safe, they put in some simple baffles.

He called Jadranko over as he was watching the restraints get put in place. “Your information is critical; make certain that your little pawn keeps you up to date.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Do we have any surveillance photos of this Moran?”

“No, sadly. We know that he is just over six foot tall, and that he will be heavily scarred. If he wishes to conceal the scars he will be completely covered. The hospital report said he had re-injured his ribs, so he will be wearing a brace–likely trying to disguise it.”

“So we depend on the police to alert us. Have your men ready.”

*

Sebastian finally realized that Jim had gone out when he saw which clothes were missing. _Shit_. Well, he couldn’t do anything about it now.

“Laz?”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Word is that the cabal member in London is the Serbian.  Do you still have any contacts in the local community?”

“A few…” Laz bit his lip, “You know I came over to Mr. Moriarty’s side…”

“I know, Laz. I don’t have any doubts.  What I need is for you to see if any information is slipping that you can pick up.  Be careful.” Sebastian nodded. “Besides, my Serbian is AWFUL. If we do capture anyone, I’ll need you to interrogate them.”

Laz nodded. “I’ll ask around.”

Sebastian went back to work, time flying by as he handled the business of the web in London and abroad

*

Mycroft was determined to be there when Sebastian came to check in.  He would play by the rules and pull the security back–just a bit–and keep observation to a minimum, but no matter how good the relationship between Sebastian and Sherlock seemed to be, there was something wrong.

They were deliberately hiding things from him, he was certain.

As he was walking from the corner–having been let out of his car there to avoid easy observation– he suddenly realized…

_The blanket._

_I am a FOOL!  Sherlock had been calmer, but he still wrapped himself up in a blanket after Sebastian left.  I had assumed it was because his nerves returned with Sebastian’s absence, but that wasn’t it–or not all of it._

_Sherlock had hidden in a blanket just as he had when he was a child to avoid giving me a sufficient look to deduce him._

_If I couldn’t see the minute twitches of expression, the change in blood flow, the dilation of the eyes, then he couldn’t give anything away except by voice… and Sherlock had a reasonably controlled voice._

Mycroft was going over every word of the conversation trying to piece together clues, when a dark cover dropped over him, and something hit him in the head very hard.

*

Sebastian looked up from the text chat over a problem in America, only to realize he was late.

He practically raced to Sherlock’s flat.   _Odd, not nearly enough security?_

“Sherlock?” The door wasn’t locked, but he smelled food.

“You’re LATE!” Sherlock snorted at him as he got up from the chair.

Sebastian’s expression softened. “Yes, well, without you handling things it takes me longer.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t leave me–“

John came in to find Sherlock staring at Sebastian. “Dinner?”

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, “What’s wrong, Sherlock?”

“Why didn’t the security alert us that you were on route? They should have.”

“I didn’t see much security,” Sebastian admitted. “I assumed your brother pulled them back.”

Sherlock pulled out his phone and began texting immediately. While doing so he said, “My brother would only do that if he planned on being here to continue being a nuisance.”

“Can we eat dinner?” John said again.

Sebastian looked around thoughtfully. “You’re right, that sounds odd.”

“Call Greg?” John asked. “He’d be handling the mundane police security side.”

“Do it,” Sherlock said flatly. “My brother isn’t answering his texts.”

In short order, they verified that Mycroft should have been in the flat almost an hour ago.  Alerts were sent out and CCTV cameras all over London began pattern matching for Mycroft Holmes.

Sebastian called out and started his own web searching, as discreetly as he could.

“We have a different problem.” Sebastian said, frowning and tense.

“What NOW?” John asked, looking at him with alarm.

“My heir went out this morning to do his own reconnaissance, under cover. That means he doesn’t have his identifiable phone on him.  He hasn’t gotten back yet.”

Sherlock looked up and murmured, “He’s more likely to BE a danger than be IN danger.”

John realized that Sherlock was trying to reassure Sebastian, so he added, “If you don’t know where he is, no one else does either, right?”

Sebastian nodded, “While that’s true, right now we’re missing two people, and I have no way of knowing if MY person is actually missing, or just out working, but I can’t even put out an alert on mine.” He nodded slowly, “I’ll work on finding Mycroft, and hope mine just comes home on his own.”

*

Eddie River was finishing his circuit.  The Serbian gangs were buzzing like hornets in London today, so the Serbian cabal member was definitely in town– or close.  It was pure chance that had him see Laz being dragged out of one of the innumerable ethnic eateries…

Laz wasn’t making a sound, he was outnumbered and out massed, and he’d been hit at least a few times, but he looked like he was waiting for a chance to make a break for it. _Smart boy, but not smart enough to not get caught._

They took him around to near the dumpsters. Eddie River crept up slowly, quietly, listening to the men speak.

“{You could have been part of the winning side, Lazar, but now you die, and you will not come back.}”

“{I was loyal to Moriarty, and then to his heir. If I die, so be it,}” Laz retorted.

“{His heir?}” the man laughed, “{Sebastian Moran has already been taken, he is a prisoner and soon dead–}”

Laz began to struggle at that, which luckily covered the movement by Jim Moriarty–who had dropped the pretense of Eddie River in that moment.

Jim shot the two holding Laz– his silencer keeping the noise well under the sounds of traffic and struggle– and Laz broke free.  His punch didn’t take the leader down, but it focused his attention on Laz, until suddenly there was a sharp burn in his leg and he crumpled to the ground.

“{Now what’s this about my heir being captured?}” Jim purred down at the man as Laz picked up a gun.

He tried to get up and failed.

“{I cut your hamstring, but don’t worry, you have two.}” Jim waved a straight razor pleasantly.

The man looked up and his face paled.

Jim smiled. Laz took a step backwards from his expression. “{Oh good, you recognize me.  So tell me everything you know, and I’ll let Lazar here shoot you. Otherwise?  Did you know I once kept a man alive during the entire process of skinning him?}”

He told Jim the address Sebastian was being taken to, as well as several other things.

“Laz, take him to one of the holding areas, call in for back up. Don’t let him die until I find Sebastian.”

“Yes, sir,” Laz nodded.

Jim took off after his tiger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laz is Serbian, yes.  
> Laz is short for Lazar, and is the same name as Lazarus, and yes the other guy is making a joke about Lazarus coming back from the dead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which John learns that he is a pudding cup

 

The Baker Street flat turned into Sebastian’s new headquarters, as he set about marshaling his own network to find Mycroft. Sherlock was on the phone to Anthea , Lestrade, and various others, coordinating the search. Unfortunately, the tracers on Mycroft seemed to be malfunctioning, or jammed.

As minutes ticked by, the tension ratcheted up.

“Greg, Anthea,” Sherlock stated into the phone after a pause in which he’d evidently been thinking rapidly, “you must have an information leak. Someone knew where the security was, and wasn’t, and when it got called back. Find that leak and we may find out who has him and where they’ve taken him.”

*

Mycroft came to, somewhat, bound hand and foot and on the floor of a vehicle– _van, we’ve changed vehicles twice, at least_ –with his captors speaking rapidly in Serbian. Mycroft lay quietly and listened.

“{He’s allergic to the usual drugs, which is why they didn’t use them! Boss says they were too easy on him, take a few fingers and toes off and he won’t be too tough.}”

 _Allergic? They thought I was Sebastian?_ He considered. _They were of similar heights; their builds quite dissimilar, however; and otherwise not at all the same–but if they only knew to EXPECT Sebastian at the right time, someone as idiotic as most goldfish might have made the wrong assumption_.

He considered some more.

_Play unconscious–these people couldn’t make any deals–wait until we get where we’re going, and hope the tracking is already underway._

*

“I think now is as good a time as any to mention that I licked John this afternoon,” Sherlock said very solemnly to Sebastian.

“Oh, good grief!” John smacked himself in the face as he groaned.

“Uh…” _Wait, what?_

“So if your heir has any ideas of trying anything–“

“He wouldn’t! John was perfectly safe!”

“Well, as soon as we find him, I’ll tell him I licked John and–“

 _SHIT! No!_ “NO! Sherlock… You don’t want to do that, really!”

“Why not?” Sherlock sounded suspicious, and was looking intently at Sebastian.

“Well… uh…” _Oh… crap. I never thought this would come up._

“Why not?” Sherlock insisted.

Sebastian tried not to flinch, and definitely tried not to look at John–even John might guess the right answer… “Because Moriarty licked him first… at the pool… when he was putting him in a Semtex vest.” Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think you want to remind my heir that you weren’t the first one to lick him.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and Sebastian could almost see the panic, then the worry that John had been hurt. He turned to John and snapped, “Why didn’t you tell me Moriarty licked you!”

“I had no idea it mattered!” John sputtered at him. “Why?! I thought this was just something with Sebastian and his heir? For that matter, I never knew Colonel Moran to have a licking fetish… although, if I recall, Moriarty certainly seemed to….”

 _And that line of thought needs to get cut off FAST!_ “It’s, uh... a tradition I got from Jim, actually,” Sebastian said uncomfortably.

Sherlock glared at Sebastian and they both silently agreed to change the subject until John wasn’t here.

“There are very few places anyone could take Mycroft to question him; we can start narrowing down the search that way,” Sherlock said looking down at his maps.

“You’re trying to change the subject–you’re BOTH trying to change the subject! Why does it matter if Moriarty licked me?” John refused to let it go.

Sebastian recognized that bulldog tenacity of John's once he got onto something. “Well, uh... it wouldn’t… especially if Sherlock doesn’t mention this ever again, then there’s no reason–”

Sherlock came in smoothly, “None at all John, we’ll just keep quiet and–“

John was having none of it. “Wouldn’t Sebastian inherit–I don’t believe I’m saying this–inherit the… what do you call it, licking priority?”

“No! It’s just… it’s like ‘You can’t have the last pudding in the fridge because I licked it.’” Sebastian found himself trying to explain the unexplainable. “Jim got kind of possessive that way…”

“So I’m a pudding cup?”

 _Basically, yeah._ Sebastian sighed, “It’s just what he did… he licked me, I licked him back… I licked Sherlock… Tradition.”

“So wouldn’t you inherit me?” _John definitely had his teeth into this problem, damn._

Sherlock looked huffy, “Don’t be silly, John: you don’t inherit the fact that someone licked you.” _Oh, Jesus, he sounded just like Jim… Like ANY of this made logical sense. Right. Of course it made sense to Sherlock: the man actually LICKED John as a defensive maneuver. Why? Why did I think dealing with two of them would be … sane… possible…._ He put his head in his hands.

“Then it wouldn’t matter would it? Why would it matter that a dead man licked me–Christ, I don’t believe I’m having this conversation!”

Everyone was very quiet. John went to make tea.

~

There was a call to Sherlock from the security. “There’s a man here to see Sherlock, says his name’s Laz?”

“Send him up.”

Laz came in talking quickly,“Sherlock? Come on we have to get you to a safehou–“ He stopped dead, staring at Sebastian.

“Laz? What’s wrong?”

“You… You were kidnapped… They said so!”

“What? I’m fine, what are you talking about?”

“Ljuban said… you’d been kidnapped, they were about to kill me, and then Jim rescued me and had me take Ljuban to a holding facility until we verified…”

Sherlock sat up. “Mycroft! The CABAL has Mycroft! They were expecting YOU to come and they got Mycroft because you were late!”

“What? He looks nothing like me!” Sebastian said

~

 _I had so much hoped I was wrong._ John stood quietly in the doorway with a tray of tea. “You’re about the same height, and they might not have much other than your height and the time you were expected,” John said, putting the tea down.

“Now, I just heard this fellow say Jim rescued him… and I can only think of one reason why what happened four years ago in a swimming pool changing room would still matter now…” John saw Sebastian wince slightly.

Sherlock said, “Never mind that,” at John, and snapped, “Do you know where they TOOK him?” at Laz.

“Trying to change the subject, Sherlock?” John said in a rather dangerous tone. “Moriarty is still alive, isn’t he? That’s why this matters.”

Sebastian cut him off, “Yes, he is,” then said to Laz,“Where? And do you have a car?” He looked at John, “I’m NOT changing the subject, but if they have the WRONG man, time is critical.”

John had to concede that.

“My car’s outside, with the cops…”

“We’re going,” Sebastian nodded, fingers flying over a text. John noted that Sherlock was also sending messages at speed, and they moved as if they’d drilled together for years. He felt a pang of envy. “Doc? We may need medical. I’ll have some of my boys bring a full kit; get what you have.”

No one said anything else until they were in the car.

~

“We meet at drop fifteen and switch cars, in case they put a track on this one,” Sebastian nodded.

“Jim Moriarty is alive,” John said, staring at Sherlock. Laz hunched lower in the driver’s seat trying to not be there.

“Yes.”

“How long has he not been dead?!” John put a hand over his face. “I mean, how long have you known that?!”

“Since he walked in on us having sex,” Sherlock said tightly.

John stopped and blinked at him. “You knew he was alive?” he asked Sebastian.

“Unlike you, I knew from right after the roof. We just had to be separated a lot. But yes, that’s why I was furious with Sherlock for not telling you for three years.”

“And you two were … Sherlock was tied up?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered through gritted teeth

 “That’s why you thought it was a set up?”

“Yes.”

“Well, fuck… If Moriarty walked in at that point I’D think it was a set up!” John glared at Sebastian.

“Yes, well… it wasn’t.” Sebastian glanced at Laz. “And Laz here doesn’t want to know any more about my personal life, and especially not JIM’s personal life, because it’s NOT healthy to know this.”

Laz nodded firmly; so did Sherlock. John sat back, glaring at them.

Sebastian looked at Sherlock and back at John. “But you see why it would be a BAD idea to remind him about the pudding cup in the fridge?”

Laz didn’t want to know, really… he didn’t.


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft tried to put up a fight being dragged from the car. He had severely underestimated the men and ended up being efficiently and quickly disabled. He was dragged into a warehouse and pulled upright, gasping at the pain in his stomach and ribs from the blows. They pulled his wallet, his phone, and his watch from him.

They had chains prepared. Wrists overhead, already set to about the right height, ankles chained to a bar, in turn chained to a floor… he couldn’t shield himself in any way. Mycroft looked grimly at the table full of implements…

_Not planning on letting Sebastian live, then._

Mycroft knew interrogation, but his people were far more careful, usually leaving few permanent marks. Still, they had the tools for more, even if they usually used them only to frighten. They’d pushed the boundaries on a few desperate cases under Mycroft’s tenure–he’d insisted on overseeing those himself, of course; it was his responsibility–but waterboarding and electricity usually did the trick when the usual methods failed.

From the looks of things here, they were planning on starting with flogs and whips, then moving up to maiming. He remembered Serbia, and Sherlock’s torture. _Sherlock was a far braver man than I gave him credit for,_ he thought sadly.

A man came in and the others behaved deferentially to him. They were talking, apparently certain that “Sebastian” couldn’t understand them. One of them was on the phone. One of the men was sent out with his things– _to get rid of the trackers._

“{Yes, we have him. Will your contact in the yard continue to be useful?}” the man was asking into the phone. That explained how they knew when to act, and complicated his escape.

One of the other men was saying something about preparing to pick up the heir as soon as they got the information. Two of the men were talking about prostitutes–one trying to hide the fact that he had a male lover…

“My colleagues have been too soft with you,” a man said in English. Mycroft scanned him immediately. _Cabal leader, insecure, fearful of his authority. He could feel his lieutenants waiting to stick a knife in him, desperate to get the information Sebastian had_ –that made him careless.

He went on posturing and gloating, ostensibly to threaten Mycroft–Sebastian–and make him talk, but really to intimidate his followers.

The longer this went on, the better the odds of someone finding him before any permanent damage was done.

*

Eddie River crept in carefully. There were three guards, and a leader type talking to someone not visible but from the posture? Chained… probably standing up.

There was an array of implements the fellow was waving at: knives, a pipe, a flog…

Friendly if weaseling bookie Eddie slipped away and Jim Moriarty started killing people. He hated getting his hands dirty, but it was Sebastian, after all. In short order, the guards and leader had holes in their heads. _Well, alright, one of them in the heart and one took two shots_ –he might drill with Sebastian, but he didn’t do this professionally.

“Sebie? What did I tell you about getting yourself captured?” Jim smirked as he came around the dividing wall…

_That wasn’t Sebastian._

*

Mycroft was waiting for the man to stop gloating at him, still debating whether to tell him he had the wrong man or play along, when a bullet took him down, very neatly. Shortly afterwards, more bullets took down the guards, slightly less neatly. Only a few had time to return fire, and Mycroft doubted they hit anyone.

 _One gun, from the sound a handgun, excellent aim_. He’d ruled out Moran himself and was wondering if it was someone on his side or Sebastian’s when the gunman spoke.

“Sebie? What did I tell you about getting yourself captured?” he said with an Irish drawl in a teasing tone he’d heard in his nightmares since he’d faced the man in his cells….

_No, that wasn’t possible. It wasn’t POSSIBLE!_

Moriarty sauntered into view–and stopped.

_It was unquestionably James Moriarty, albeit in an ill-fitting outfit that made him look considerably less impressive._

“Mycroft Holmes…” his voice dropped to a hiss, “what an unexpected surprise….” Moriarty’s expression shifted to that pleasant mask that hid everything so well. _It was definitely him; no imposter could do that._

“I was apparently mistaken for Sebastian Moran…” Mycroft said, his voice gone dry. Moriarty had called out for Sebastian, he expected him here, and expected Sebastian to KNOW he was alive.

He pulled up the facts and looked at them aghast–he’d missed it. _Sebastian’s heir: damaged, a lunatic, volatile, would like to shoot me, would kill Sherlock except for making Sebastian unhappy…._

_Oh, dear God, his “heir” was Jim Moriarty, that’s why it didn’t make sense!_

_Jim Moriarty walked in on Sherlock in bondage? No wonder he thought it was a trick… especially if Moriarty had made the collar…_

_Wait._

_That meant Moriarty was Sebastian’s sub? That didn’t make sense…_

~

Jim watched the shock hit Mycroft’s face, and then Mycroft shut down. _Of course, who knows how many blows to the head he’d taken, but Mycroft thinking was simply not to be permitted–or breathing, actually._

Jim rolled his neck. “Convenient,” Jim said thoughtfully. “I’ll just shoot you and they’ll blame–“

Jim hadn’t seen the other man come back and pick up the fallen flog–Mycroft had been too deep in thought to react–and so the first blow fell across Jim’s back without warning.

~

Mycroft snapped back to the present when he heard a scream. Moriarty was on the ground, one of the other guards striking at him with some kind of flog…

 _Moriarty was cowering?_ He’d been amused and in control during all their attempts at interrogation… he didn’t cower, he hadn’t even reacted beyond vague amusement, not even when Mycroft had authorized extraordinary means.

Mycroft saw the body language shift from cowering to coiled, then Moriarty was on his feet, knives drawn and took the man to ribbons. He was screaming at him in a mixture of Irish and English: words like “father”, and “sister”, and “not again”, and “die”...

Moriarty wasn’t here, not really. He was completely absorbed, and not entirely in this world. Someone could have shot him and he likely wouldn’t have noticed.

 Mycroft watched as he reduced the already dead man to pieces, and kept slicing.  He finally stopped when there wasn’t anything recognizable left of him–and probably when the adrenaline wore off.

Mycroft tried speaking to him but he didn’t respond. _Something triggered this. It wasn’t the pain–we’d put him through so much worse–but the combination of being taken by surprise... and the flog._

_Sebastian’s other sub lashed out physically–where Sherlock lashed out verbally–had reinjured his ribs when he hit him. Sherlock insisted that the heir would burn the world to the ground for Sebastian, just like he would. “Father”. “Sister”. “Not again”._

_Moriarty was abused by his father–at least–with a belt or a flog or something similar. This had sent him into a flashback._

_How the HELL had he come through interrogation sane and smirking?_ Mycroft’s blood chilled. _Had he? Had the increasing instability and lethality to his brother been triggered by his torture at my hands?_

Moriarty crawled off to a corner and curled up, shaking.

~

_His father, his father was back. He’d killed mum and he was dead and somehow he was back and he was going to kill me and…._

_No._

_Not again._

_Never again._

_Sebastian, he needed Sebastian… Sebastian would fix everything…_

~

Moriarty was whimpering for Sebastian. Mycroft calculated his odds for survival if he couldn’t get loose quickly and– _near zero._

Getting loose had to be the priority.

He pitched his voice carefully and copied Sebastian’s handling of Sherlock during HIS panic attack. _Sherlock called him Jim; I should probably use Jim, not James_ …

“Jim, it’s Sebastian, I’m here, it’s okay, breathe… in… come on, in… good, now out…” Mycroft said, playing Sebastian’s voice and cadence in his mind.

“Sebie?” a small voice–one Mycroft had never imagined coming from Moriarty–came from the man huddled in the corner.

Being unable to be certain what the real Sebastian would say, he simply kept mimicking what he’d said to Sherlock. “No one can take me away… I don’t leave people who need me, you’re safe.”  

It seemed to be working… Moriarty uncurled and stood up, hesitantly walking toward him, looking... vague.

 _Now it works, or it doesn’t._ “Jim? You need to undo the locks... I can’t get us out of here until you undo the locks…” Mycroft kept his voice steady and level.

Jim undid the cuffs at his ankles and then CLIMBED him as though it were a common thing, wrapping his legs around Mycroft’s waist and undoing the cuffs on his wrists. It must BE a common behavior with Sebastian: the man was a wall, and Jim was a small man. Mycroft brought his arms down to support Moriarty–Jim.

“You need to walk,” Mycroft said, working hard to keep his voice in the pitch and rhythm of Sebastian’s reassuring tones.

Jim nodded shakily and let Mycroft set him on his feet. He curled into Mycroft’s side as he walked, tucking his head under Mycroft’s arm.

“You still smell like Mycroft, Sebie…” Moriarty’s voice was quiet and shaky. “You shouldn’t smell like him, he’ll hurt you.”

“Mmm-hmmm…” Mycroft steered him out the door. “Which one’s your car?”

Jim pointed and handed him the keys. Mycroft opened the driver’s door: Jim slid in and crawled over to the passenger side. Mycroft got in, started the car, and drove away.

_I have an informant in the yard–at least one–a group of criminals hunting me down, my USUAL enemies no doubt trying to get to me by now, and a murderous lunatic…currently passed out in the passenger seat._

_Survive first, sort out the details later._

 


	10. Chapter 10

They were being followed.  Mycroft hadn’t seen anyone at first as they drove away but now he was certain.  He couldn’t be sure who they were, though, and that was a problem.

And suddenly he had a more proximate one.

There was a blade at his throat and Moriarty asking, in his calm conversational tone, “What did you do with Sebastian, Mikey?”

It was all Mycroft could do to keep the car on the road. “I didn’t do anything with him.  They thought I was–“

“He was HERE!” Jim suddenly shouted.

 _Oh_. Mycroft bit his lip. “No, he wasn’t. You were… unwell… and I copied what he did when he brought Sherlock back from a panic attack.  You thought he was here.”

The blade increased pressure just a hair, he felt warmth moving down his throat. “You don’t want the car to crash at these speeds.” Mycroft forced himself to say, as calmly as possible. “And we are being followed by another car.”

The blade moved away, but not far, and Moriarty looked back. “Shit.”  He huffed a breath and Mycroft saw him pinch his nose. The knife appeared to have vanished into a sleeve or pocket. “Left turn at the next intersection. As soon as I lose them, floor it, then an immediate right turn at the road that looks like a driveway.”

Jim went over the seat into the back and did something to the back seat.  He appeared to be pulling up the cushions. Watching in the rear view he couldn’t help but notice that his neck was bleeding sluggishly, so nothing critical cut.

Mycroft turned left and just saw Moriarty, with a military rifle, fire out the back window at the following car.  The combat and defensive driving classes kicked in and he floored it as directed.  Shortly afterwards he did indeed see what appeared to be a drive way and turned right.

“I hope this is the correct turn and where did you get that?”

“It is.” He sat back and aimed the gun at Mycroft’s head. “Pull over.”

“I don’t think so: if you shoot me I want at least a chance of taking you with me.”

Moriarty shot past him and blew the windshield. “Pull over.”

“You have just convinced me not to.” Mycroft felt that eerie calm that he’d only felt in situations where death was far, far too close.  He idly wondered if this was anything like what Sherlock felt, but he doubted it.

Moriarty was threatening from the back seat. Mycroft jerked the wheel to the side.  Moriarty wasn’t belted in and slammed into the car door; a bullet went through the seat next to him, close enough to burn.

“Either throw the gun out the window, or hand it to me, because otherwise I take the car out around a tree and take my chances.” Mycroft held a hand out.

He met Moriarty’s eyes in the rear view.  Jim stared at him for a long time, and then handed the gun forward.  Mycroft slowed the car a bit. “Now, I suggest you call Sebastian–“

“I can’t.” Moriarty grudgingly admitted, “This cover identity never carries a phone.  He buys a burner when he needs one.” He glared at Mycroft, “Partly because of your ability to track them.”

“Wonderful, and they took mine.”

“We need to get under cover until dark.”

“If you kill me at this point, Sherlock at least will figure it out.”

“Mycroft, I assure you, I don’t care.”

“But we both know Sherlock would, and therefore Sebastian would.” Mycroft sighed, “And before you threaten me again, I heard a great deal about his heir, including the fact that he wanted me shot, and once you walked in it became obvious that meant you. Sebastian and I have an agreement of truce: I doubt you want to break it.”

Moriarty started swearing vehemently.

“You walked in on Sherlock in bondage? Of COURSE he thought it was a set up.” Mycroft snorted. “I expect you were shocked as well–“

“Left turn, now.” Jim snapped. Mycroft turned left without thinking. Finding himself driving on an extremely rutted and poorly maintained excuse for a road–or cow path.

“What do you know,” Jim mused, “You can follow orders.”

“Combat driving classes.” Mycroft  stated, “including the idea that my guards might be too wounded to drive but able to give direction.”  He was forced to slow, far more than he liked, by the condition of the road. “And it’s Sherlock that has the trouble with orders.  I’m the one that works in government.”

Jim snorted. “Up ahead, there is a house on the right, it looks like it’s pretty poorly maintained. It has an old barn or garage. Get the car in there under cover. It’s one of the safe houses.”

“I’m disinclined to stop the car.”

“Fuck you, Mycroft, we’ve both been shot. The safe house has medical.”

Mycroft took his eyes off the road and only just recovered. “When were you shot?!”

“The car behind you. One of them shot back.  I got him, but  he winged me.”

“You should have said something.”

“Why? So you can kill me?”

Mycroft pulled into the house area, grabbed the gun and got out of the car.  Moriarty got out quickly, and went into the house. Mycroft pulled the garage doors open, and got back in the car and parked it.

When Mycroft got into the house he almost instantly felt a gun pressed into his ribs. “Drop it, Mikey.”

Mycroft sighed and held the gun out. “I don’t want to kill you, you know, I just have no interest in letting you kill me.”

Moriarty took the rifle. “Difficult to believe.”

“I could have killed you once you unlocked my cuffs at the warehouse.  You were not defending yourself–“ the gun dug in to his ribs, hard. Mycroft muttered, “Sebastian was right, you’re exactly alike.”

The gun stopped digging in, “What?”

“He said Sherlock shoved people away by lashing out verbally and his heir by lashing out physically.  I concurred that Sherlock lashed out verbally whenever he was upset or felt insecure…. Frightened…”

As soon as he said that, Jim struck him. Mycroft had expected it–planned on it, since Sherlock would have lashed out then as well– and spun with the blow, taking hold of the wrist of Jim’s gun hand and twisting.  The gun dropped to the floor.  Mycroft backed up. Blood was seeping through Moriarty’s jacket.

“Exactly like that.” Mycroft said. “If I had realized sooner–“

Jim pulled the knife. Mycroft didn’t move. “I haven’t done anything to you–“

Moriarty snarled at him, “Like hell, Holmes.”

“Fine. RECENTLY.” Mycroft sighed. “If you want to go back before your death, then yes I did, and you did a great deal to me, including coming very close to murdering my brother. If you prefer to stick to current events, I’ve been cautious but  not hostile to your heir, Sebastian, and I could have  killed you and didn’t.”

~

Jim was having trouble and he knew it.  Everything Mycroft said was sounding more and more reasonable- _shock, blood loss, adrenaline wearing off_.

Mycroft was looking at him exactly the way he had in interrogation, like he was a bug, or a puzzle to figure out. “You said there were medical supplies, where?” Mycroft asked him.

“The closet just off the bathroom.” Jim waved. If Mycroft would turn to go get it, he could retrieve the gun. _Mycroft was far more combat capable than I had thought, shouldn’t get too close with the knife in my condition._

Mycroft obligingly turned and went in the direction of the medical kit.  Jim moved to scoop up the gun and felt his head spin.  Then something hit him and he crashed to the ground.

*

Laz drove up to the warehouse.  There were cars parked, and a dead body near the door.

Sebastian ran over to the body, keeping low.

John pulled Sherlock down, “This is a combat zone, let the professionals work.” He hissed.

Sherlock was being his usual obstinate self, “John, I’m the best person to analyze the scene, let GO of me!” Sherlock started levering his height to get loose.

“Fuck it.” John muttered, “If you’re going to act like a brat…” he reached out and grabbed the ring on Sherlock’s collar and pulled, while twisting his wrist behind him.  By the time Sebastian gave the all clear and looked back over, John had Sherlock nose down in the dirt.

“NOW you can get up.” John let go of him. “Should have gotten you a collar ages ago.” He muttered.

Sherlock got up sputtering and glaring at him. “Never–“

“Save your life? Keep you from having your head blown off by a sniper? Keep you under cover while the military boys work?” John glared at him.

At that point a trio of black cars pulled up. Sherlock  snorted, “My brother’s people. This time I NEED to handle it.”

“Yup. You do, not arguing that one. See you inside.” John nodded and went inside.

“Mycroft’s people are here.” John called in.

Sebastian was looking at a slaughter inside, being careful not to disturb the scene. “Great, let’s hope they behave.”

“Speaking of behaving Colonel, is there a policy for naming me as a secondary handler on Sherlock like there is on a bomb sniffing dog? If I’d known a collar worked that well I would have gotten him one years ago.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> deductions and experiece

Anthea got out of the car after the men secured the immediate area. The younger Holmes was standing there trying to look unruffled, even though his flatmate had only just let him up off the ground. She would have smiled any other day.

“There are three people here with me,” Sherlock Holmes said immediately. “We only just arrived.”

Anthea nodded, “Doctor Watson I know–who are the other two?”

“Colonel Sebastian Moran, and Laz, a sniper who works for him.”

Anthea nodded and said several things quietly into a microphone. “Let’s go in.”

She was pleased to note that Colonel Moran had sense. He was standing in the open with his hands in sight.

“I trust you understand that we’re working together?” he said, and Anthea knew immediately that she had not been briefed enough. _DAMN Mycroft and his penchant for understatement! “He has a great deal of charisma.” Yes, and a volcano was a bit hot._

“Yes,” Anthea said, keeping her voice calm. “Please tell me where your sniper is so I can alert my men.”

“Roof. He’s the only one up there.”

She nodded and called her men.

Sherlock spoke up, “Mycroft was chained there: the cuffs are the right height. Someone unchained him and he walked out, there’s no sign of blood or dragging.”

“My heir was here,” Colonel Moran sighed, “so I am somewhat perplexed.”

“How do you know, and why are you perplexed?” Anthea asked. She’d been given only the most cursory notification about the heir.

The Colonel waved at the only atypical body, one that had been attacked with an edge and a great deal of vehemence. “He probably shot everyone else, but THAT is what happens when he flips.”

~

Sebastian recognized an aide-de-camp when he saw one. Anthea might have been prettier than most, but right now she WAS Mycroft Holmes–until he showed back up.

“How much were you briefed, Ma’am?”

“Mr. Holmes is prone to understatement, sadly assuming that everyone else can read his intentions–so not very much.” She smirked faintly, “Although I’m better than most.”

“Sherlock?” he asked, “How cleared is she?”

Sherlock, who was still sulking about being put down by John apparently, grumped, “My brother trusts her.”

“I will brief YOU, Ma’am, but not the rest of these men. We have reason to believe the cabal has agents inside.”

She nodded and did something to her communicator.

“John? Sherlock?” He sighed, “This goes NO further unless it is life or death.” He looked pointedly at Anthea. “I am only telling you this because Mycroft’s life is in the balance, and so is my heir’s. Understand that if this is leaked–“

“It won’t be.”

“My heir was severely abused as a child,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “He has overcome that to a fantastic degree, but he still has triggers that will send him over the edge. In addition, he was subjected to extraordinary interrogation under Mycroft Holmes, and has never recovered.”

Sherlock looked up, “I had understood he was unaffected.”

Sebastian shook his head, “No.”

Anthea looked sharply at him. “There are very few people who underwent extraordinary interrogation in any recent time period,” she glanced at Sherlock, “and only one who appeared to be unaffected, and he’s dead.”

“So was I,” Sherlock said looking back at her flatly, “and I suggest you not name names, but yes.” He saw her eyes widen and then she nodded. He looked back at Sebastian, “Severe childhood abuse?”

“Yes. The messily dead man has a flog near his hand. Trigger.” He sighed. “Which makes sense of everything except why Mycroft Holmes isn’t hanging dead in those chains.”

*

Lestrade had everyone on high alert: Mycroft Holmes being kidnapped was many things, but most especially a threat to national security. He didn’t want to believe that they had a spy in their number, he really didn’t, but Sherlock had been certain.

Which is why he was watching and noticed when Donovan snuck away to make a phone call.

 _The thing people forgot,_ Greg thought to himself, even as he listened, _was that I worked my way up through the ranks._ If he hadn’t he never would have met Sherlock, but while everyone thought he was big and clumsy and obvious, he could sneak up on almost anyone, especially someone whose life was falling apart around them. He waited for her to hang up.

“You’re under arrest, Sally,” he said quietly.

She spun, eyes wide. Her mouth opened but she didn’t say anything.

“You better hope they find him alive.”

“They weren’t after him!”

“You know that doesn’t help.” He held out an evidence bag.

She didn’t sag, just stuck her chin out and dropped her phone into the bag, then her badge, and then her gun.

“You’re going to give the everything you have on your contact.” It wasn’t a question. She looked away then, but she nodded.

He called Sherlock as he escorted her to the police car.

*

 _Flogs were a trigger? For THAT?_ Sherlock started re-evaluating everything. _Childhood abuse must be relevant or he wouldn’t have mentioned it. Severe childhood abuse, trigger, overkill with a blade._

“Does he dissociate?” John asked. Everyone jumped. People were in different places: he must have been thinking for long enough to notice.

Sherlock looked up blankly, but then put the question in context. John really was quite intelligent: he simply worked more slowly. _I should have been the one to see it, however._

Anthea looked over from her texting with a question on her face–she didn’t understand.

“Yes,” Sebastian answered, “but he hasn’t in a long time. Why?”

“Mycroft is probably alive because your heir didn’t see MYCROFT, then. He unchained someone else–as far as he’s concerned.”

Sebastian stared at him. “Oh… Oh, of course.”

“How long until he realizes do you think?” John asked.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock nodded. “Mycroft didn’t kill him once he was free, nor did he drag him… so they BOTH got into a car. At this point, the question is whether Mycroft could restrain him before he realized–“ His phone chose that moment to ring; he ignored it. “–because as soon as his heir wakes up, he will be both disoriented and–” John’s phone started ringing.

John answered it. “Greg?” After a moment he held up a hand. He listened, his face getting tight and angry. “I could have told you that based on her behavior. Hold on.” He turned to Anthea. “Greg Lestrade found the leak, or at least he found A leak. Sally Donovan was giving information to the Serbian Cabal. If you question her contact, you’ll get more information.”

Anthea started texting rapidly. John GLARED at Sherlock. Sherlock startled. _Wait, he wanted something… Play along?_

“This is a dead end, Anthea. Sally and the fellow she was talking to, though…” John said firmly. “We’ll work from here, but you need to handle the politics and interrogation side.” He paused, “Besides, I can’t be near Donovan or I’ll throttle her.” _That was the first truthful thing he’d said. He wanted Anthea out of the way? Why?_

She nodded grimly and spun, giving orders and collecting her people. “I’ll send our forensic team.”

Sherlock assumed John had managed to signal Sebastian somehow, because Sebastian was only glancing curiously at John when he didn’t think anyone else was looking, but hadn’t said anything.

Eventually they were gone, and John looked at Sebastian. “Car, all of us, now.”

Sebastian just looked amused, but he called Laz down and they both checked the car for bugs–they found two. John looked startled.

Once they were in the car and pulled away from the scene, Sherlock asked, “Alright, John, I played along… Why did you want them to go away and us to leave?”

“I think I know what happened. Your brother may have been drugged, or concussed, or he may have just been able to figure out how to play along, fast–given Mycroft, that’s possible–but if Moriarty let him loose without recognizing him, OR in an altered state of some kind, we are on a timer.”

“Yes, John, I said that.”

“But until then, and maybe after that, Jim will be heading to someplace he thinks of as safe. He’ll be hiding from the abuse triggers. Is there any place near here he would think of as safe?”

Sherlock stared at Sebastian and then back at John. “I’m… impressed, John. That’s brilliant deduction!”

He expected John to be pleased for the compliment–Sebastian was looking impressed as well–but John just looked pained. “It’s not deduction: it’s experience.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a person with PTSD (among other things) yes, you do try to go for safety if you can. of course when you are unwell your concept of safety can vary between a really dumb idea, and "outside"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a reminder, when you switch perspectives, sometimes you go back a bit in time

Jim woke up feeling like shit.  He hurt badly but he was secured down in a comfortable bed. _Sebastian wasn’t here? Had he gone to make breakfast?_   There was movement and a door opened, and his world collapsed as Mycroft Holmes walked in.  Jim stared at him standing in the doorway holding a tray… _instruments, cells, I never left…_

*

Sebastian stared at John for a moment and then shifted into full military mode– critical issues first.

“That makes sense.” Sebastian nodded. “We have two safe houses within an hour of here.”

Laz coughed, “I’m WAY behind on whatever you’re talking about.”

John sighed. “We think Moriarty may be… injured or drugged, basically.  He may be operating on auto-pilot.” He looked at Laz, “I suspect you REALLY don’t want to know but consider it like a soldier who had a bad shock, maybe a concussion, and he thinks he’s back in war.  I think Moriarty is acting like Mycroft is one of his people–maybe Sebastian since that’s who he went to find– and trying to get them both to safety. The problem will be once he wakes up.”

Laz swore, “And suddenly he’s helping someone he hates?”

“Basically.”

Sebastian nodded, “two houses, opposite directions. One is closer and has communications gear, the other is further away and doesn’t.”

Sherlock nodded, “start with the closer one.”

*

Mycroft had presumed the drugs in the medical kit would be safe for Moriarty, he didn’t have many options.  The blood loss alone wasn’t too threatening, but Moriarty appeared to be mildly dehydrated to begin with, and probably–like Sherlock– hadn’t eaten enough. Luckily the “medical kit” was more like a field hospital supply. 

Stripping Jim Moriarty down was an odd experience, as was giving him the IV fluids and stitching him up.  He looked so much younger unconscious–almost harmless. The tattoo was new, though.  While Mycroft hadn’t been personally involved in stripping him during interrogation, a tattoo would have been noted in the files.  Tiger stripes in a patch on his shoulder.  Mycroft got a chance to investigate it while he was putting him to bed.  On close examination they covered faint scars–very old lash marks, Mycroft presumed.

Mycroft was fairly certain that if Moriarty got the chance, he would run, and failing that try to kill him.  Normally Mycroft would simply call for help, but there was no phone–not even a phone line– and no communication equipment at all in the house that he could find.  He would simply have to restrain Moriarty and ask him when he woke up. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the main bedroom had comfortable, locking, padded restraints in one of the dresser drawers.

He heard Moriarty moving as he was coming back with breakfast. He braced himself and went in.  Moriarty looked up with a pleasant look– _expecting Sebastian, of course, so waking up in restraints must not be unusual_ – and then…

He stared at Mycroft, then to the tray, and a look of absolute horror crossed his face for a moment…

And Mycroft saw him go blank, his expression flicker, and the Moriarty from the cell was suddenly lying on the bed, stretching out in amusement and looking at him like nothing ever touched him.

“Well, this is a surprise, Mikey… However did this happen?”

*

The first safehouse was pristine, and untouched, and obviously no one had been there.

*

Lestrade had already gotten a confession of sorts by the time Anthea got there. Donovan’s “boyfriend” had vanished of course, after she’d called to tell him they had the wrong man.  Anthea had her held as an accomplice and set the resources of Mycroft’s office on finding the man.

Something was going on and she hadn’t been told enough. Mycroft had barely told her what he knew, and it was evident that his brother was hip deep in it, and there was more going on. The four of them had deactivated the tracers and bugs before they left.

Mycroft and Sherlock were not close-in any sense that most people would use- all she could do was hope that Sherlock could find him, and he was still alive.  Until then she would follow orders, and her duty.

*

The last remaining member of the Cabal–the American– had been watching in disbelief as the rest of them threw good resources after bad.  Judging from the frantic nature of business in London, it looked like it was just them, now.

Their erstwhile allies had squandered too many good resources, and lost.  They continued the process of burning connections to their own holdings.  If Moriarty’s empire came looking? Well, they would deal with it then, if not? A poor partnership was best ended soon, in any case.

They sent a few hints to their agents–witting and unwitting– in American intelligence and waited for news.

*

They found the remnants of a gun battle on the way to the second safe house. There had been two survivors, who had taken the car out of sight.

Sherlock deduced which way they had gone, and was left with Laz as a guard. Sebastian began to track them only to be passed quickly by John, smiling in a distant fashion that seemed off somehow.

~

Watson found them quickly. They left enough of a trail, not like tracking over  the rocks and dust in Afghanistan. One of them was wounded, but not badly, one was only shaken. They tried to put up a fight, poor fools. He reminded himself that they needed to question them, and shot out their knees–one each.  The Colonel caught up soon afterwards.  He seemed surprised, for some reason.

“John? Are you…” The Colonel hesitated, hardened. “Captain?”

“Ranks are irrelevant, Moran.” Watson said calmly. “I can take one prisoner if you take the other.”

Moran picked up the larger one–after all he was taller by far– and they took them back to the car. Laz was on guard duty with Sherlock, who looked like he was going mad from inactivity.

He looked relieved to see them come back, and then Sherlock looked at him with that intensity that always spelled trouble.  He opened his mouth and Watson cut him off, “No one here is cleared, Sherlock, and until we find your brother and get everyone signed to the Official Secrets Act, it’s not their business.”

~

Sherlock looked at Sebastian– _you see a difference too?_ He obviously did– and then nodded slowly. He looked at the better off of the two. “{How many people were in the car you were following, and what condition were they in?}”

“{Two.}” The prisoner decided to answer after taking in the four of them. “{I think the smaller one, the one with the gun, got hit, but I’m not sure.}”

They tied the two of them up and Laz secured them in the wreck of their old car, while Sherlock called Anthea. “We found two more who had been chasing a car from the hostage site. It seems Mycroft and one other were both alive, and– oddly– armed, at the time.”

She breathed a bit more easily, he could hear it. “Donovan’s contact is at large, we are hunting for him. Do you want me to pick these two up?”

“Yes, but… For my brother’s safety, you MUST NOT crowd us. If anyone else comes up on them the situation could become unstable.” Sherlock put as much emphasis as he could on it. “Just pick the men up and retreat. However… maintaining an ambulance at this location would not be a poor idea.”

John was listening to the conversation, and in his not-quite-himself voice asked, “Ah? You need the Doctor back then?”

Sherlock gave the GPS coordinates and hung up.  He then turned to look at… It was John, but it wasn’t, quite. “Yes, we will very likely need a doctor, John.”

John laughed lightly, “Good thing I can be one, then.” And in the time it took to say that his stance changed.

“Experience?” Sebastian asked, looking hesitantly at John.

John blinked a few times and got back into the car. “Experience, and practice.” He said, looking uncomfortable, not meeting Sherlock’s eyes.

“How did I miss it?” Sherlock asked him quietly on the way to the safe house.

“Ask your brother.” John said tightly.

Sebastian interrupted them. “I’ll go in first when we get there, I’m the least likely to be shot by Jim, and Mycroft shouldn’t shoot me on sight either. Laz will stay with the car and keep a watch, I need you two prepared to come in on my signal.”

Sherlock nodded, “Will it be like the last safehouse?”

“Similar. It has no communications, no phone line, but should have more food and better medical supplies.” He rubbed his forehead, “and more weapons.”

John sighed. “So, moving into a fortified stronghold, well supplied with food, ammunition, and medical, and no idea if we’re being shot at?  Lovely, sounds like old times.”

Sherlock felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up just slightly as Sebastian and John grinned at each other through the rear view mirror.

“Nah,” Sebastian laughed, “Back in the sandbox you had some idea what you were heading into… Mycroft Holmes and Jim Moriarty? I don’t know how to predict that.”

Sherlock murmured, “Schrodinger’s Cat.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO... none of this is "typical DID/MPD and it isn't intended to be, but it's closer to that than anything else, and some things are not as they might seem at first.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all together now....

Sebastian carefully opened the door to the second safehouse.

“Stop.” Mycroft’s voice from the right.

“It’s Sebastian,” he said, keeping his hands in sight. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, thank God.” Mycroft sighed, “Please come in.”

Sebastian looked over and saw a rumpled looking Mycroft  having come awake on the sofa. His reflexes must be good to have a gun in hand that quickly.   He waved the others in.

Sherlock brushed past him and stopped in front of Mycroft.  He stood and Mycroft sat, staring at each other without saying anything.  It was very odd.

“You get used to it,” John said from beside him.  “It’s the Holmes equivalent of a territorial greeting, as far as I can tell.”

Sebastian called Laz over “There’s an attic level with views on all sides: can you take high point?”  Laz looked relieved and nodded and Sebastian waved him over to the stairway door.

Sherlock looked back at them and said, “We have a problem.”

John sighed. “Hello, Mycroft, glad you’re alive.  Is Moriarty here?”

Sherlock looked grumpy. “I just said that.”

Sebastian sighed, an echo of John, “No. No, neither of you said anything, you just stared at each other.”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “I am for the most part unharmed, my only serious injuries are from being captured in the first place.  However… are you aware that Moriarty appears to suffer from some kind of dissociative identity disorder?”

Sebastian nodded, “He got a lot worse after you lot had him.  Why, what’s happened?”

“I believe the individual in the bedroom is the one I met in interrogation…”

Sebastian nodded again and went to the bedroom.

~

Sherlock looked at John, and then at Mycroft. “John showed signs of the same problem, but it seemed under more control.”

John snorted, “I don’t have a problem,” and walked off to the kitchen muttering about tea.

Mycroft looked wary, “Did he, brother? That’s… worrisome.”

“He indicated that you were the person to ask.”

“Controlled transition?”

“Very.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Too many people who aren’t cleared to speculate.  I need your phone.”

Sherlock handed it over. Mycroft dialed Anthea.

~

Sherlock was calling.  They didn’t have the second ambulance in place yet, but her men had gotten to the prisoners.

“Anthea,” she answered, keeping her voice level.

Mycroft’s voice, only a bit rougher than usual, recited the code phrases that indicated he was, for the moment at least, not seriously harmed and not under threat, “–although we certainly do have an unusual situation.”

 _Oh, thank God._ “I was getting an ambulance, do you need one?”

“I do not; it is possible someone else does, but–“

She heard a voice in the background saying no ambulances– she thought it was Sebastian.

“Do you need a retrieval team? I was informed as to the identity of–“

“Do we have a leak in our team?”

“Unknown– we certainly had one in the yard: she has been contained.”

“Then no: have my personal car on standby, but otherwise, no.  Too risky.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Anthea, and… pull the secure file on Doctor Watson.  I’ll need it when I get back.”

~

“There won’t be anything on the file,” John said with a faint smile as he came in with a tray of tea.

“There… were indications you had more high security missions than your official file,” Mycroft  said slowly.

“I did,” John nodded.

“The cabbie,” Sherlock stated.

Sebastian had come back quietly with a worried look and interrupted, “We have a problem.  I don’t dare untie Jim in his current state.”

John looked thoughtful, “So this is an unstable version?”

Mycroft shrugged, “I believe this is the personality I was dealing with in interrogation.”

John whistled. “Well, that’s bad.”

Sherlock frowned, “Why is it particularly bad?”

“How long did you have him in interrogation? What was his reaction?” John asked.

“Several weeks, and we got absolutely nothing until I gave in to his demands– or appeared to.”

“Then you are dealing with a personality that feels under threat or trapped, and is prepared to STAY here for several weeks under torture or psychological tricks.” John sighed and looked at Sebastian. “You can’t PULL him out: this is a defensive position.  He’s going to have to choose to come out, and he’ll assume almost anything is a trick.”

Sebastian winced. “I could send you all out and let him go; he won’t hurt me much.”

Sherlock was sitting quietly, watching John. 

John shook his head, “Too many people gunning for us to risk that. We need him up and around soon.”  He looked at Mycroft. “Strip.”

~

Sherlock was startled badly by that.

“You must be joking!” Mycroft spluttered.

“Nope.  You’re the proximate threat: you are essentially his captor and chief interrogator. The only way to bring him up and out is if you are no longer a threat.”

Sherlock nodded slowly– _that made sense_ – “Mycroft would have to be put down at his level…”

Sebastian was swiveling his head back and forth, ending by staring toward Jim’s room. “Strip him and tie him up next to Jim?” he asked. John nodded.

“That’s utterly–“ Mycroft cut off as John casually aimed a pistol at him.

“Mycroft?” John said tiredly, “I’ve been kidnapped, lied to, mourned the death of my best friend, played bait for deranged cabal leaders, and had my wife  disappear into a new identity… I really have no patience for your idiotic pride.  Strip, and we secure you next to Moriarty for a few hours and see if it brings him out.”

Mycroft stared at the man– _Yes, he was frighteningly serious_ – and gritted his teeth. “Then we shall do so in the bedroom where there appears to be a closet and hangers.  I’d like to try to keep the state of my clothing from getting any worse.”

~

Some part of Jim actually registered surprise when Johnny Boy marched Mycroft in at gunpoint. The fact that Sebastian and Sherlock were following them was utterly beyond perplexing.

“What are you up to Mycroft?” Jim’s eyes flashed back and forth.

Mycroft didn’t say anything he just started stripping out of his clothes, Sherlock hanging things up in the closet.

Jim shut up and watched, with his eyebrows climbing higher by the minute

Sebastian and Johnny Boy unlocked one of his wrists, and locked Mycroft in next to him–then repeated it with his ankle.

“Sorry, Sir, it’s for your own good.” Sebastian muttered.

“Tiger?” Whatever are you doing?” Jim hissed. Sebastian didn’t answer.

 Sherlock was taking off a few layers of clothing as Johnny boy was tying Mycroft’s  free wrist to his with cloth.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian frowned at Sherlock.

~

“He had the collar made.” Sherlock said unbuttoning a few buttons and pulling the shirt open. “I thought it might jar some memories.”

Sure enough Jim’s eyes locked on the collar in confusion.

John stepped back. “There.  Now we wait and see if he comes back up soon.”

Mycroft was grumbling darkly, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Watson.”

Sherlock looked at the perplexed look on Jim’s face.  He kept going back to a bland smile but it would falter into a puzzled look.  Sherlock looked at Sebastian.

“Sebastian?” Sherlock waited for Sebastian to come stand next to him and slid slowly down to kneel next to him. Sebastian reflexively put his hand out and combed through Sherlock’s hair.

Jim’s eyes tracked back and forth quickly, his attention completely off Mycroft for increasing amounts of time. 

“He’s mine…” Jim whispered.  It wasn’t clear who he meant.

Suddenly Sherlock saw the answer.

~

John knew that look.  _This was either going to be utterly brilliant or a complete disaster._

_Or both._

_It could always be both._


	14. Chapter 14

Deep in the safety of his mind, Jim was working on math problems. The old fashioned phone on his desk turned into a computer screen and lit up with an incoming call.

“This better be good,” Jim muttered.

Amused Jim looked at him in confusion from the computer screen. “I really think you need to get out here and deal with this.”

“Why? Are we bleeding too badly?”

“We’re not bleeding at all, but I’m confused.”

“What could confuse YOU?”

“Mycroft is naked and tied up next to me–“

 _They decided to try drugs then?_ “Probably drugs–just ignore it.”

“Uh… Sherlock’s here.”

“Oh?”

“And Sebastian, and that Army fellow... They made Mycroft strip at gunpoint, and now Sherlock is kneeling at Sebastian.”

“Well… That part may be true… If Sherlock is there, that may be why Sebastian won’t untie you–assuming it’s not a hallucination.”

Amused was looking over his shoulder in distress, “He wants me to lick Mycroft? Why does he want me to lick Mycroft?” He looked back at Jim, “Sherlock is arguing that Mycroft and I have to lick each other…”

Jim stared at him. “Fuck this shite, I’ll be right up.”

*

Laz came down as ordered to find John Watson alone in the living room with a pile of guns.

“Sir? Where is everyone?”

“Moriarty and Mycroft Holmes are in there,” he waved at one bedroom, “and Sebastian and Sherlock are in THERE,” he waved at the other bedroom. “Sherlock said something about interest rates.”

“Oh, uh… Sebastian owes him… errr… favors.”

“Sex,” John said flatly. “Well, at least someone is getting some.”

“Do you know what you’re doing with all those?” Laz asked worriedly as John picked up a military weapon.

John looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and stripped it and had it neatly in pieces–without breaking eye contact to Laz. “Yeah, a bit. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

“Thought you were a doctor, not so much a soldier?”

John snorted. “I’m a regimental medic, among other things. Go get some coffee or tea, and help me clean and set up the weaponry–it was neglected.” John sighted down a pistol and took it apart to fix it.

Laz came back with two cups of coffee. “I’m beginning to see why James and the Colonel like you.”

*

Sebastian didn’t dare use anything that might sound like a flog, just in case Jim could hear anything, but there was a good quantity of rope, and a hard restraint point…

He laced the rope over and around, pulling and snugging the knots to make sure nothing would abrade Sherlock’s skin.

“You know I’m going to have to make sure all the safe houses are stocked with black rope–or red–because I don’t think this looks nearly as good on you as the black did.”

Sherlock grumbled soggily through the gag.

“It’ll do, though.” Sebastian grinned as he pulled on the free line, slowly pulling Sherlock’s arms up behind his back; eventually, Sherlock was standing almost on his toes, bent forward with his arms up behind his back. Sebastian backed the rope off until Sherlock was fully on his feet–just.

“You know, I think you and Jim both have entirely too much fascination with licking. I wonder why that is?” Sebastian licked a stripe up Sherlock’s arm, in between the ropes. “Hmm….” He then licked carefully at Sherlock’s neck–not so easily done since his head was hanging down.

Sherlock moaned.

“I see… Well, your oral fixation could grow on me, I suppose.”

Sebastian walked around him, trailing a hand over him as he circled him. He leaned in and licked Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock twisted in the restraints.

“I can’t use a flog, since the rooms aren’t nearly soundproofed enough, but somehow I don’t think,” Sebastian pulled Sherlock’s head up by his hair, “you mind that much, do you?”

Sherlock shook his head no, and moaned again.

“Hasn’t anyone ever guessed how much you like your hair pulled?” Sebastian asked, pulling his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock hesitated, and then nodded once.

“One person?”

Nod.

“Let me guess: Irene?”

Nod.

Sebastian twisted his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. “Pity she never got to see you quite like this.”

Sherlock’s breathing sped up. Sebastian moved behind him, keeping tension on his hair carefully. “Of course…” He ground his crotch into Sherlock’s hips, forcing him forward against the ropes, and pulling his hair harder. “She never got quite as far…”

Sherlock was swearing around the gag and pushed his hips back into Sebastian.

“Oh, I don’t think we should rush, Sherlock… I have all that INTEREST to repay.” He emphasized the word by tugging on Sherlock’s hair and bumping him forward in the ropes again.

Sebastian grinned and got out the lube. “So we should probably just leave you here for a while to cool down, shouldn’t we?”

Sebastian stepped back and waited. Sherlock actually stamped his foot like a toddler–Sebastian used the sound to cover uncapping the lube.

“Right.” Sebastian grinned, as he had the difficult task of applying lube to himself without working himself up any more– _I want this to last a bit, after all._ “You’re just wanting to hang there and enjoy it, right?”

Sherlock started enunciating really vehement insults around the increasingly soggy gag, and trying to shove backwards into Sebastian. Sebastian eyed him thoughtfully. _He’d been using his plug, and for all that he hadn’t been wearing it on the case, he wouldn’t hurt him that much with enough lube–and Sherlock liked it rough._

The next time Sherlock tried to shove back into him, Sebastian shoved forward. Sherlock’s yelp trailed off into a desperate moan.

Sebastian reached forward and ran his hands down Sherlock’s arms to his shoulders… and then pulled him back into him hard.

How Sherlock could make those noises around a gag, Sebastian would never know.

*

Mycroft was trying to rest, as much as you could when you had been tied to a bed with an unstable murderer. _When I get out of here, I’m having Watson arrested and held until I find out what’s going on._

Moriarty moved. He hadn’t moved at all after closing his eyes before everyone left…

“Seriously?” Moriarty’s voice sounded incredulous. “They SERIOUSLY left us tied up in bed together? I’m going to skin him.”

“If you mean Doctor Watson, Moriarty, I concur,” Mycroft sighed.

“I meant Tiger, but your idea has merit,” Moriarty said grudgingly. “And for fuck’s sake, stop calling me by my last name, ­HOLMES.”

“I haven’t been told what you prefer to be called; it was only polite.”

“Since when have you given a damn about being POLITE?!”

“Whenever possible,” Mycroft sighed. “Do I assume I am dealing with someone who might possibly be able to convince them to untie us?”

“Assuming I can get Tiger back in here, yes. Unfortunately, these are the good restraints.” He tugged on the arm that was tied to Mycroft. “Except these… I can get out of these.”

“Moriarty–“

“Jim.”

 _Sigh._ “Jim. It won’t do us any good since each of our outside hands and legs are in, as you put it, the good restraints.”

Jim grumbled at that. “So, since I seem to be in reasonably good shape, what was the point of the torture equipment? Just trying to scare me?” Jim was sneering. “I don’t scare easily.”

Mycroft turned to face him as much as he could. “What torture equipment?”

“You came in with a tray.” Jim snorted.

Mycroft remembered the policy in interrogation of bringing in a tray, and showing the prisoner implements to start the interrogation sessions. “Oh… No… That was just breakfast…I didn’t think of how it would look…” _That was why he reacted that way; he thought I was coming in to… oh._

He could FEEL Jim glaring at him.

At that point, a moan drifted through the wall.

“He tied me up, left me here with YOU, and now he’s fucking Sherlock? Seriously, I’ll skin him,” Jim muttered.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “You seem certain that’s my brother–“

“You know damn well it is.” Jim snorted, “Do you even know what your previously virginal baby brother is into?”

Mycroft tried to bang his head, but pillows did not make that easy. “Yes, unfortunately; although, as I said to Sebastian, I was shocked he could deal with it after Serbia.”

“Well, it took you long enough to rescue him after I got word to you!”

Mycroft stopped. _They had found Sherlock because of a tip off that they never traced._ “You?”

“Who do you THINK told you where he was, Mycroft?”

“Why would you?”

“No one breaks my toys but me,” Jim grumbled.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said quietly.

They both looked up as the door opened.

~

John was confronted by identical aggravated looks: both of them glaring at him, and trying to look unconcerned about their current restraints–he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Did you know you two have almost exactly the same expression?”

“Bite me,” snarled Moriarty.

“IF I could be unrestrained so I can reassure my people soon?” _Mycroft sounded so damned superior._

“No, I have no intention of getting within snapping range, and no, I’m not untying you yet.” John smirked. “So…” He walked closer and looked down at Moriarty, “What did Sherlock want you two to do?” He pointed at Mycroft, “Don’t say anything.”

“Why?” Moriarty was looking at him suspiciously.

“I want to know who I’m talking to,” John answered. “What did Sherlock say he thought you two should do?”

“Lick each other…” Moriarty was watching him suspiciously.

“Sherlock licked me back at the flat. He apparently thought it would solve some issues about my being safe?”

Mycroft started spluttering. Moriarty snorted, “I licked you at the pool! That’s ridiculous, he’s YEARS too late!”

 _Good_. “Alright, do you know where the keys are?”

Moriarty told him where they should be, assuming Sebastian didn’t move them. They were there. John started by unlocking their feet.

“Wait, you’re unlocking us now? I thought you weren’t?” Mycroft asked him. John noticed with amusement that the two of them were looking at each other in utter confusion.

“Well, now that I know THIS Moriarty remembers the events of both just a short time ago, and several years ago… yes. I needed to be sure I wasn’t dealing with one of the lesser personalities.”

John unlocked Mycroft first, then Moriarty.

“Oh, as a reminder… I’m armed, not stupid, and if what you do interrupts Sebastian and Sherlock in the middle of sex they’ll make your lives hell. Now that that’s settled, is anyone interested in tea?”

 


	15. Chapter 15

“Tea.” Jim just blinked at the man.

“Well, I suspect you should both let me have a look at the injuries first, since we have a full medical kit available,” Johnny said thoughtfully, “then tea.”

“Johnny Boy, I hate to say this, but living with Sherlock finally made you snap.” He noticed Mycroft agreeing even if he wasn’t saying anything.

“Not really: I had to be a bit not right to begin with or the body parts in the fridge would have chased me off.” Johnny shrugged. “Now, let’s have a look at those injuries. Oh… and don’t try anything, Moriarty–”

“For FUCK sakes!” Jim snorted. “It’s either MISTER Moriarty, or you call me Jim–I got enough of the last name posh idiocy from Sebastian until I broke him of it.”

“Don’t know, I’m not posh–never was.” Johnny was staring pointedly at his wound.

“It was a clean in and out,” Jim grumbled.

“Yes, and Mycroft cleaned it and stitched it and I have no idea what his–”

Jim turned and stared at Mycroft. “You don’t stitch people up; you call in the repair crew for that.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it was just the two of us: no one to call in.”

“What are you two talking about?”

“Mycroft and his men spent a few weeks torturing me Johnny Boy; he never sullied his hands on the repairs.”

Johnny pinched the bridge of his nose, “Right. Tell you what, you two try not to think about that and I’ll try not to remember how many screaming nightmares I had since the pool, okay?”

Jim blinked. _He had nightmares about the pool?_ “Why would you have nightmares about the pool? Surely you went through worse in the war?”

Johnny stared at him and his eyes went cold. Jim recognized that look: it wasn’t a good thing at all. It was “You’ve pushed this too far and I’ll murder you in cold blood.” Jim very firmly shut up. Johnny spun on his heel and walked out.

“Mycroft? Any clues?”

“I really want a look at his classified file,” Mycroft muttered. “Other than that, no.”

~

Sebastian was lying with Sherlock, having wrapped him up snugly in a blanket on the bed, when there was a sharp rap at the door.

“John,” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes at the door. “He’s upset.” _Crisp knock–_ once Sherlock compared it to his behavior previously– _military_.

“Come in,” Sebastian called.

John walked in–no, Captain Watson walked in. “I do hate to interrupt, but I believe I need a second when dealing with those two.”

Sherlock had a moment’s thought of how intense John could be and wondered briefly if he missed anything in not pursuing a relationship beyond friendship with him. _No, John would never be able to hurt someone he cared for, and the slight distance of being friends, not lovers, was likely what let him put up with my attitude._ Sherlock suddenly realized that John would be a rather absolute dominant if he went that way.

“I don’t think I could ever be that kind of submissive,” Sherlock said firmly. “We would have driven each other mad–Sebastian can deal with my attitude issues in a relationship.”

John shifted down in tone and posture–he looked very confused–“What? Sorry, Sherlock, I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Ditto,” Sebastian said, getting up and pulling on pants.

Sherlock waved a hand out of his blanket. “Even if I had known about my masochistic and submissive tendencies, we would never have worked. You don’t like hurting people you care for, and if you tried to be a dominant in the relationship my continued attitude would cause issues. We’re much better as friends.”

John just stared at him with that familiar confused look and shrugged, “Uh… Okay?” and looked at Sebastian.

Sebastian walked out with him, “From long years of experience, if it isn’t a problem, just go along with it–it’s not worth–” The closing door cut them off.

~

Sebastian went past Laz–checked, got a report, continued on–and went into the other room. They were untied, alive, and not bleeding–Sebastian counted that all in the win column. Jim was unpacking some spare clothes and frowning at them in annoyance; Mycroft was dressing in his badly abused suit.

“I’m going to skin you, you know,” Jim said in his usual voice. _Ah, he was irritated, but not furious._

“Can it wait until we get back to someplace a bit safer, Sir?”

“Probably. What the HELL is going on with Johnny Boy?”

“Damned if I know, but he wanted me spotting him while he patched you two up.” Sebastian moved toward him now that he was certain and took his arm carefully.

Jim, predictably, snarled, “Get your hand off me.”

“You’re wobbling; I think you need to sit back down.”

Mycroft sighed, “I said that; he threatened to turn me into shoes.”

Sebastian shrugged as he steered Jim back onto the edge of the bed, “That’s Jim-Speak for ‘Alright, but under protest’.”

Jim immediately started cursing him out in Irish–as he did–which he knew Sebastian didn’t speak a word of. Jim was going on, probably insulting his ancestry, when–

 “Mmph! Hrph!! Mph!” Mycroft was making muffled, strangled noises. Sebastian looked over to see Mycroft with a hand pressed to his mouth; he was flushing bright red.

Jim froze and turned slowly to look at Mycroft. “You understood that?!” He sounded utterly horrified.

Mycroft… giggled, that was the only word for it… then opened his mouth to say something and fell over on the other side of the bed laughing.

John’s voice from behind him sounded as confused as he felt, “If Sherlock got his hands on more hallucinogenic gas it might explain this, but I doubt it.”

~

Mycroft was mourning his suit– _I suppose the tailors might be able to save it_ –and marveling over the fact that Moriarty–Jim–didn’t seem to be inclined to pull a knife at the moment, when Sebastian came in. _Good, he can take charge of Jim._

Sebastian tried to get him to sit down and Jim started snarling at him. Mycroft sighed, “I said that; he threatened to turn me into shoes.”

Sebastian steered Jim back onto the edge of the bed, “That’s Jim-Speak for ‘Alright, but under protest’.”

_It was? Dealing with Jim must take one hell of a translation guide. Oh, and now he’s yelling at the man in Irish Gaelic, he sounds furious–_

“{–and If you weren’t one of the few people I care about MORE THAN MY OWN LIFE, you obnoxious giant cat, AND hung like a horse and probably the KINDEST person in bed I’ve ever met, I would drop you into the NORTH SEA! I was scared shitless you’d been CAPTURED again, you self-sacrificing–}”

 _Oh… my… God… That was almost sickeningly sweet and he was SCREAMING it at him. And the look on Sebastian’s face–Oh, God, he doesn’t speak a word of Irish, does he?_ Mycroft pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to keep quiet.

Jim froze and turned slowly to look at Mycroft. “You understood that?!” He sounded utterly horrified.

Mycroft looked at the horrified face of Jim Moriarty–remorseless, psychotic terrorist and villain–who just a moment ago had been screaming mushy declarations of love and concern at Sebastian and tried desperately to deny it… He fell over on the bed, laughing.

John’s spoke up sounding very confused, “If Sherlock got his hands on more hallucinogenic gas it might explain this, but I doubt it.”

“Sir?” Sebastian sounded worried; he was looking at Jim, “What’s going on?” Mycroft looked up, saw everyone’s face and had to bury his head in the pillows, laughing–he diagnosed stress and shock, and tried to get himself breathing regularly.

Jim leaned down and hissed in Irish, “{You say even ONE word, Mycroft…}”

Mycroft managed to pull himself out of the pillows, “Tell you what, Jim… You get that arm looked at properly, and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

~

John had no idea what was going on, but apparently that was a working threat. Jim sat there with his mouth pressed shut, glaring at Mycroft while John treated the wound.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans and arguments.
> 
> Please bear with me on any typos, as my usual proof reader has been ill.

Sebastian was a lot of things but he wasn’t stupid.  Jim had been screaming his usual rants and threats –and if they had been in private that would have ended with Jim being calmed down in bed–and Mycroft Holmes apparently thought it was hysterical.  Now that could have been put down to him just thinking whatever Jim was threatening to do was funny, but the way Jim reacted? And the way Mycroft leveraged that into making Jim sit still for medical?

Sebastian knew blackmail when he saw it, but what the HELL could Jim have said that was so upsetting?

“So how’s his arm?” Sebastian finally asked.

“Fine.  Mycroft apparently did a good job with it, and it was a clean shot, but he should still be on anti-biotics.” John–Doctor Watson– answered.

Mycroft started to say something and Watson interrupted with a, “Your turn.”

“Pardon?”

~

“You have a bullet hole in your suit, and I’m fairly certain I saw a burn on your side.  As long as I’m looking people over, Mycroft, I’ll check you too.”

“I believe you had a good look when you held a gun on me last night.” Mycroft narrowed his eyes and gave the man his best threatening look.

Watson just looked bored at him, “You didn’t frighten me before, Mycroft, and you don’t frighten me now.”

Jim’s eyes were glittering as he watched the unexpectedly intimidating Watson stand his ground against the Iceman.  Watson had been remarkably calm even strapped into Semtex, now that he thought about it, but whatever was in his classified files had to be FUN.

Mycroft reluctantly stripped off his jacket and peeled down to skin.

“Well, that’s just a scorch.  Close call though, they almost got you.”

“Oh that was me, Johnny Boy,” Jim chimed up happily. “but then he did swerve the car.”

“Why were you…? Never mind.” John just sagged slightly, “who knows why you people do anything.”

Mycroft was putting his clothing back on, “I believe he was still adjusting to waking up in the car with me, instead of Sebastian.

Jim hissed at him.

Sebastian cleared his throat, “right. So… food?  You two haven’t eaten lately.”

They moved out into the main room to find Sherlock and Laz had put the guns away, and set up the table with food.

“Laz seemed to think that no one had eaten,” Sherlock said looking intently at the group, “It appears he was correct.”

Sebastian brightened up and pulled Sherlock in to a hug, which he tolerated briefly before shaking him off and snorting something about food.

It was without doubt the most silent and uncomfortable mealtime Jim had ever had–and that was saying something.

~

“So, we need to get all of us out of here and back to London.  We still don’t know how many moles the Cabal has in the police or the Intelligence agencies.” Sherlock frowned and looked at his brother, “can you be certain who you can trust?”

“Anthea, certainly” Mycroft sighed, “but as I have said before, other than that? They all spy on people for money.”

“Have you considered setting Sherlock loose on them?” Jim said pleasantly, “he did a good job cleaning up the problems in my network.”

“I hardly think my brother needs me to determine the best smuggling routes for–”

Jim waved at him in an amused fashion, “I meant the first bit, where you hunted down and killed off the weak links for me.”

“FOR you?”

“Well, technically by then it was for Sebastian…” Jim mused.

Sherlock stared at Jim. “I was HELPING?!”

“Certainly? I would have done something about you if you weren’t.”

“You thought I was DEAD! That was the POINT!”

“Well, I thought you were dead for a while,” Jim admitted, “but once some of the sloppier people in the network, and the incompetent snipers started going down it was fairly obvious.”

Sebastian sighed, “I did mention that I was shocked you hadn’t told John.”

“I took out most of your–”Sherlock was snarling at Jim

“Sherlock?  Seriously, not the time…”Sebastian sighed, “Can we get back to relative safety; figure out what’s going on NOW, and then worry about pre Cabal history?”

~

John looked thoughtful, “we can take the car to a meet point NEAR London, and then switch vehicles?”

“Anthea could–”

“No.” Jim said firmly.

“She isn’t in the employ of the Cabal–”

“I never said she was, but why in HELL should I trust Sebastian, Laz and Myself to you and Anthea and your guards? I’d be back in interrogation before nightfall.” Jim snorted, “Seriously Mycroft, I’m not stupid.”

“Surely my word on the truce is enough.”  Mycroft looked at Sherlock and John to back him up only to find Sherlock looking thoughtful and his eyes tracking to Jim and Sebastian.

“No, brother of mine I don’t think it is.  It might hold with Sebastian and an unknown heir, but not with Sebastian and Moriarty.”

Mycroft looked at John Watson, “surely you”

“Mycroft, I’m intensely sympathetic to the desire to throw Moriarty in a pit and lose the key, but the situation is… Well, we can’t.”

“You honestly take Moriarty’s concerns over my word?”

Sherlock looked unhappy and finally said, “Yes.”

Sebastian shrugged, “I tend to take Jim’s tactical advice, but I was assuming that having been hurt by you he was a bit biased, but if Sherlock agrees it’s too risky to trust you, Mister Holmes, then I have to agree.”

“It’s not that you can’t trust him,” Sherlock sighed, “it’s that you CAN.”

“I don’t get it.” Laz said finally

“Mycroft will put crown and country over everything.  That comes first.  He’s bent that more than a few times for my sake, but if he thinks Jim is that big a threat then the priority will be to put him away, even over his own personal opinions.”

Mycroft winced. It was true, he couldn’t argue it, but to hear it stated so plainly by his brother was painful.

~

John sighed, “Right. We need the poker crew.” He looked at Sebastian, “We call the veterans, and get back into London proper.”

Mycroft shook his head, “They’re all being watched now– safety precautions. Even aside from you not trusting me on this matter, the people watching them are low level, the most likely to be compromised.”

Sherlock nodded, “That makes sense.”

“It does?” John asked, rather puzzled.

“Yes.   It does.  Can we get to the outskirts of London? Without help?”

“Probably.” Sebastian nodded.

“I believe so,” Mycroft agreed, “but we will run into issues as we get closer to the city proper.”  He frowned, “All we really need is an unknown vehicle, and we could get back into London safely.”

Laz spoke up, “What about stealing one?”

Sherlock nodded, “A good idea, but the odds are against us finding two vehicles, or a large van, that can take us all.”

Jim looked thoughtful, “I could call–”

“What makes you think I trust YOUR people, if you aren’t willing to trust mine?” Mycroft snapped

“I wasn’t planning on calling ‘my people’,” Jim sniffed disdainfully at him. “I’m proposing to call two people; one of whom is entangled with every side of this, and the other is purely mixed up with Sherlock and John.”

Jim looked smug, “We call Molly, and Mrs. Hudson.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly, John, and some tense discussions

Jim sat there looking amused as John started sputtering and Mycroft looked shocked.

“Why on EARTH would you want to involve Miss Hooper?” Mycroft finally asked. He sounded almost offended.

“It’s Doctor Hooper, Mycroft, have you no manners?” Jim answered calmly. Sherlock realized he was enjoying watching those two being unsettled. _They saw him in a down position; this is his way of returning the favor._

“Molly’s not a bad idea,” Sherlock admitted, “But Mrs. Hudson?”

“She knows how to handle a gun,” Jim pointed out, “Molly doesn’t. I don’t want Molly coming out unarmed and my usual guards are likely being watched by someone.”

“You want to tell Molly and Mrs. Hudson you’re alive?” John said uneasily, “That puts them both in more danger than I’m comfortable with right there.”

“Agreed.” Mycroft nodded.

“Molly already knows” Sebastian and Sherlock said nearly in unison.  Jim just grinned and watched the fireworks.

Sherlock had realized Molly must have known Jim was alive–that THAT is what Sebastian didn’t want  them talking about in Italy– almost as soon as he recovered from Jim showing up. It was interesting to hear it confirmed, of course. John wasn’t taking it well and neither was Mycroft.

“How long has MOLLY known?!” John sounded his old self, not military, just Doctor Watson.

“How and why did she know?!” Mycroft sounded stern, which was usually his way of covering up for being upset that he hadn’t known something.

Laz and Sebastian both looked at Jim– _Laz because he was curious, Sebastian for permission to answer_.

Sherlock had to admit he wanted to know the answer.  Sebastian had been worried, warned Molly not to talk–taken her off in private in fact–and that was obviously because her ‘contact’ was Jim. Sebastian had even said that she could of COURSE tell her contact any of the information–naturally, since that was Jim. He hoped Jim hadn’t threatened her too much, but he couldn’t figure it out, quite.

Sherlock looked attentively at Jim, wondering how all this had happened.

~

“Molly helped me fake my death, too. Why wouldn’t she know?” Jim said calmly, sipping his tea. _God I love watching people find things out like this, it was wonderful._

“She what?” Sherlock asked sounding shocked.

“I WAS dating her Sherlock.”

“You were pretending to be GAY!”

“I was, and then after you cruelly torpedoed her hopes, I felt sorry for her and pointed out that I was bisexual.  She’s a lovely girl, Sherlock, you really treat her appallingly.” He went back to sipping his tea and smirking.

“Boss…” Sebastian had that warning tone in his voice again.

 _Sigh_ , “Yes, Sebie?”

“Stop teasing him.”

“Fine. I was still seeing her, though.”

Sebastian glanced at Sherlock, “You figured it out of course.”

Sherlock nodded, “You were determined that there was something she couldn’t tell me, and she was frightened and anxious. I presumed she’d been blackmailed or threatened… you certainly implied that.”

  Mycroft suddenly swore vehemently, “The woman James took to Italy? Was Molly Hooper?”

John sighed, “Yes, it was Molly that got the letter to me.  What I’m confused by is that she knew Jim was alive and didn’t tell anyone, and why she would help you fake your death in the first place. It made sense for her to help Sherlock…” he shook his head, “Why would Molly help JIM fake his death?”

“Threats, obviously.” Sherlock nodded. Jim smirked and Sebastian winced.

Jim simply held out his hand, Sebastian gave him his phone.

~

Molly’s phone rang with that ring tone and there was that rush of fear…

“Hello?”

“Hello, Molly, I’m afraid it’s a less exciting destination than Italy this time.” He paused and sighed, “Much closer and much, much more complicated.”

“That’s for certain.” She heard Sebastian mutter in the background.

“I need you to come out to the countryside and help get rather a large crew of people safely back into London.  There’s armed terrorists out hunting for everyone, but I rather expect the coroner’s van should be  unmolested.” _There were armed terrorists and he wanted ME to…?_

She heard someone that sounded like Sherlock…

“I-Is Sherlock there?” _Wait, he didn’t know Jim was alive… he hadn’t known… oh God... if he knew…_

“Yes, pretty much everyone’s here; really, it’s a mess.”

“So he knows... I mean that you’re alive… does he know I helped…?”

“Don’t fret, Molly, you know how this works. You just do what I say and it all works out. Now, I don’t want you coming out here unarmed, but most of the people I would NORMALLY call to escort you are being watched. I want you to call Mrs. Hudson and have her come over.”

Jim moved his mouth away from the phone, “Sherlock, what should she tell Mrs. Hudson? I know you have a code for that.” _Oh God, he was there… and they were talking? And he wanted her to come out there?!_

She heard Sherlock sigh, “Tell her Sherlock suggested you try the mixed berry muffins; that tells her to bring a pistol.”

“Right,” he said back into the phone. “Right now we can’t trust anyone else, because either they might be a spy, might be being spied ON, or they hate half the people here.”

 _Sherlock… Sebastian was with Sherlock… but Sebastian worked for Jim… and.. and…_ Molly was twisting her hair, “Isn’t there someone else?”

“No, and stop fidgeting.” Jim’s voice got darker and firmer.

“Right,” she sighed, “a picnic in the suburbs sounds lovely. I’ll call Mrs. Hudson.”

“Good girl.”

She called Mrs. Hudson, and started the process of signing out the van. _How? How did I get myself into this?_ She rubbed her throat, and remembered the first time she saw Jim’s eyes going from friendly to cruel...

*

Once Jim hung up Mycroft grudgingly admitted that a coroners van would be expected, given the dead bodies. Sherlock was muttering under his breath.  John noticed Sebastian pat Sherlock’s arm reassuringly–the odd thing was he noticed JIM pat Sherlock’s other hand reassuringly.

“You’re not used to smuggling people, Sherlock, that’s all.” Jim shrugged, “You’ll catch on.”

John sighed. “Anyone want to fill me in on how Molly got involved? She wouldn’t tell me anything.”

Laz muttered, “Is it too late to run away?”

“Far too late,” Sebastian sighed, “But tell you what; it will take people a while to get out here… why don’t you go make some soup?”

“Whatever you already heard, or figured out, isn’t going anywhere.” Jim said flatly.

“No, sir.” Laz nodded and left the room quickly.

Sebastian looked at Jim, “The other bedroom is furthest from the kitchen.”

Everyone got the point and moved to the bedroom. It was awkward.

Mycroft cleared his throat, “I would like to know how Miss–Doctor Hooper got involved.”

“I already told you, I was dating her.  I met her as ‘Jim from IT’.”

John broke in, “Yes, well. Much as I’d love to hear this, and I think we NEED to hear this some time, we have some slightly more pressing matters to discuss.”

“We do?” Sherlock looked at him with that blank look. John glanced over and saw that Mycroft had that vaguely annoyed look…

“Is that the expression the two of you have for “I have no idea what you’re talking about but I’ll just say you’re stupid rather than admit it?”

“You’re catching on, Johnny,” Jim said pleasantly. He was up on the bed, against the headboard, looking completely at ease.

“Right.” John rubbed his forehead,” Mycroft, HOW well will Anthea keep her mouth shut?”

“As long as I am alive and well, any information she has will only go through me, UNLESS it’s something I’ve cleared… why?”

“Because we had to discuss what the hell must have happened at the warehouse with her.”

“You discussed what?” Jim looked at Sebastian, “Sebastian?”

“I was trying to figure out why Mycroft wasn’t hanging dead in the chains, given that you’d obviously been there.  There was some guy with a flog–you’d flipped on him.”

Mycroft sighed, “Yes, rather messy given he was right in front of me. Jim had been talking about killing me and blaming it on them– neither of us saw the man come up behind him.”

Jim grumbled, “It would have worked.” And then, “What the HELL did you tell Anthea?!”

“Enough.” Sebastian winced “That you were probably not doing well…” he hesitated, “I had to tell them…”

Jim was glaring at him, Sherlock looked shut down… Mycroft just studying.

John decided it was best gotten over with sooner than later. “I was the one that asked if you dissociated.  It was the only thing that explained why you two apparently left together, uninjured. I was explaining that you would be heading someplace you considered safe.”

“However would YOU know?” Jim was narrowing his eyes.

John sighed; “There is a LOT that isn’t getting discussed here because its need to know, but… Let me run down a few things: severely abusive father, mom died in front of us when I was a kid, I spent a lot of time trying to protect my sister while being beaten, locked in small closets­–” John saw Jim’s muscles twitch, even if he didn’t show much expression. “Sound familiar?”

Mycroft was looking back and forth in confusion.

Jim’s voice stayed deceptively light, but John saw everyone else catch the under tone of danger, “Sounds very familiar, why?”

“Early  trauma and childhood abuse–usually severe and lasting– are the classic backgrounds for anyone with DID, what used to get called Multiple Personality Disorder.”John shrugged faintly, “Current research shows there is usually a strong  genetic component as well, because most child abuse cases just end up with PTSD.”

Sherlock was frowning, “So when YOU switched?  From the military back to the doctor?”

Jim and Mycroft hadn’t been there and they were paying far too much attention.

John sighed, “I’m almost completely integrated. I know what I’m doing, you’re just dealing with…instead of an alternate personality call it a different facet of my personality, highly compartmentalized. I can switch on demand when I need specific skills or information.”

“I have no idea whether that sounds useful or terrifying.” Mycroft was staring at him. John could almost feel the security analysis running.

“Most people with any level of DID who are functional switch out in response to specific triggers… It is after all a survival mechanism.” John looked carefully at Jim–tense and unhappy– and looked away. “Well, Jim switched quickly and appropriately when he felt threatened by Mycroft… and came back in fairly good order when the threat was removed.” John nodded carefully at Jim

~

“The confusion helped…” Jim was looking at John as though he’d never seen him before. Sebastian assumed he was reassessing him.

“I thought it might.” John nodded, “That alter was meant to deal with threats and pain, not confusion and safety.” John looked up, “Sebastian said the flog was a trigger. I’m guessing when you got surprised one of the less controlled alters reacted defensively.”

Sebastian rubbed his forehead, _why the HELL hadn’t Doc Watson been around when he was trying to figure this all out on the fly?_

Mycroft nodded slowly, “Rage and fury and overkill…and a lot of screaming, which told me a lot. Then he crawled off to a corner and curled up. I imitated Sebastian’s words and cadence and he unlocked me.”  

 _He… imitated…_ “You mimicked me bringing Sherlock down?”

Mycroft winced, “Yes.  Unfortunately he came back to himself in the car and pulled a knife on me.”

John sighed, “Nothing like waking up suddenly with no idea what your alter has been doing to put you on the defensive. Waking up to find yourself with someone who is viewed as a distinct threat would be more so.” John muttered, “like in a pool with a lunatic and a bomb vest, or under a bonfire.”

“I’d be careful about what you admit to in front of Mycroft, Johnny.” Jim said thoughtfully, “He’s a threat.  The fact that he knows about me…”

“I wasn’t afraid of Mycroft when he had me kidnapped and dragged off to a warehouse and threatened, I see no reason to start now.”

Jim blinked at him. “When was THAT?”

“Yeah, when?!” Sebastian sputtered.  He’d been discounting so many of Jim’s warnings about Mycroft, especially after he met the man and he was reasonable…

“Two? Three? Days after I met Sherlock.”

“I didn’t kidnap you; you got in the car voluntarily–”

“Semantics, Mycroft,” Sherlock snorted.

“Mycroft is going to try to have us all killed as soon as he gets back to his office,” Jim said very matter of factly, “Except for Sherlock, of course.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “I agreed to stay neutral unless Sebastian engaged–”

“Iceman, darling, we both know that whatever promises you made to Sebastian vanished into a very cold, illegal cell the instant you knew I was alive.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody breaks my toys but me.
> 
> Discussions, can be triggery

“That… might have been true before, but things have changed a great deal.”

“Nothing has changed, Mister Holmes,” Jim smiled at him, “You tried everything you could to break me and failed, and now you think you know how to do it.”

“Mycroft…” Sherlock sounded upset but was trying to control it.

“Oh don’t pretend, Sherlock.  We both know you were in on your brother abducting me–payback for threatening your Johnny boy, after all. That’s when I changed my mind about you.”

“What…?” Sebastian startled badly.

“I am sorry, Sebastian.  I never thought to tell you– I didn’t honestly think it would come up after…”

“Sherlock?” Poor Sebastian looked shocked– Sherlock looked vaguely guilty.

“What happened to you is on my responsibility, not my brother’s.” Mycroft said firmly.

“Oh I know that, Iceman, but the Virgin–close enough at the time– was certainly in on it. It took me a bit to figure that out, but I did.  Which means Sherlock shares some of the blame. Only some, of course, but–”

“Sherlock?” Sebastian was pulling away from Sherlock.  _Oh… of course… Sebie was a sniper, after all, he’d kill you, but torture was something he always had trouble with._

“I didn’t understand, then.” Sherlock said quietly. “I had no idea what it was like… not until Serbia, really.”

Jim sighed, “Just keep him Sebie… I’ll learn to deal with it if we survive…”

John had been leaning against the wall and he was so easily overlooked really, especially when so much else was going on.

“Well, now that we’ve brought that up again: Mycroft abducted and tortured Jim… and Sherlock knew about it?” John’s voice was firm and commanding–really he hid so much under those jumpers…

~

Sherlock very quietly said, “I knew he was picking him up, I knew  he was interrogating him–Mycroft and I discussed what information to give him– I just didn’t really understand what that meant. I was never there, I just… thought of it as… prison, possibly with some beatings…”

“Sebastian said ‘extraordinary interrogation’.” John said flatly, looking at Mycroft and Sherlock.

Sherlock realized that he really, even now, had no idea what that had involved… “I don’t know. I suppose I chose not to know.”

Mycroft sighed. “We’ve authorized extraordinary measures on only a handful of occasions under my authority. Since it was my responsibility I oversaw it personally.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, “And Jim wasn’t himself, after.” 

_He had changed, hadn’t he? Before… before Mycroft picked him up, he’d flirted and alternated invitation with threats… after? He’d never called me sexy again, never been anything but threatening…_

Sebastian looked at Jim, “I never thought Sherlock was involved.”

Jim just shrugged. “So Sherlock chose not to find out what was happening to me.  It doesn’t change things, Sebastian.”

“I’m sorry…” Sherlock tried to say it and it came out in a whisper.

“It explains a lot.” Sebastian looked back and forth between Sherlock and Jim, “I really don’t know how to deal with that.”

John looked over at Mycroft. “So we’re getting shot when we get back?”

“No.” Mycroft looked pained, “As I said… a lot has changed.”

“I think that someone better spell this out, then.” John looked very closed and he wasn’t looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to reach out to Sebastian, but he was sitting very still with his hands folded together.

Jim glanced over, “I’ll cope, Sebie, it’s not like I didn’t have the collar made, I used to think he was–.”

“Sexy.” Sherlock said, pained. “You used to flirt…in between threats.”

John muttered, “Three,” suddenly.

“What?” Jim turned at looked at him.

“You switched three times, at the pool. I should have seen it.”

“Oh… probably.” Jim shrugged.

“I had decided not to take Sebastian down…” Mycroft spoke quietly but firmly, “after I saw him with Sherlock.”

“And like I said–” Jim started to say, but Mycroft cut him off.

“I decided to give you a chance to run while we were still in the car.” He looked thoughtful, “admittedly having you pull a knife on me did somewhat derail that, but–”

“Why would you do that?” Jim asked incredulously.

Sherlock stared at Mycroft… he seemed to mean it.

“Because when I saw you at the warehouse… I realized you were the heir, which meant you were Sebastian’s sub–” Jim bristled, but Mycroft continued, “And even though Sebastian was suddenly bringing someone else into the relationship, you… hadn’t interfered– hadn’t hurt Sherlock.”

“Jim never did anything to me, even when he walked in on us.” Sherlock pointed it out– the more he thought about it the more incredible it seemed...

Mycroft  looked very tense and continued, “When I saw what happened after you got hit… after you didn’t even seem to remember I was there…I started wondering how much damage we’d actually done.”

Jim lunged at him–Sherlock never saw it coming and couldn’t react in time; apparently neither did Sebastian.

Luckily John must have seen it, or predicted it somehow– he landed on Jim before he made it off the bed.

~

“NO ONE IS KILLING ANYONE RIGHT NOW!” John yelled as he knocked a knife out of Jim’s hand.  Then he went back to plain command voice, “I don’t care how tempted anyone is. We’re going to bloody well sit here and get this settled if Sebastian has to order in more rope!”

John shoved Jim back over at Sebastian. “No stabbing, shooting or whatever!” then he glared at Mycroft, “No HAVING anyone stabbed, or shot, or whatever!”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Mycroft was looking surprisingly tired.

Sebastian was holding Jim the same way he’d held Sherlock at the flat–both wrists crossed in front of him, holding him held back against his chest. He was trying to talk to him but Jim was mostly twisting and snarling.

“Let me go, Sebie, you’re not spending one damn minute in his cells–”

Sherlock got up and moved in between them and Mycroft. He was shaking his head, “I can’t let–”

John looked at the situation and sighed, “PLEASE don’t make me call on my military training? You wouldn’t like it; none of you would like it.”

“I decided that there must be some way to work this out when Jim woke up… God, has it only been two hours?” Mycroft was being sensible and hadn’t moved his hands much, but now he held them up carefully in the direction of the other three. “I could discount getting information to me about the cabal–because that was Jim, obviously– as being in his own interests: I couldn’t discount his getting me the information that let me rescue Sherlock from Serbia.”

~

Sebastian was completely at a loss.  _Sherlock?  Sherlock had been party to what his brother did to Jim?_   Jim had problems before, but after his stay in Mycroft’s hands he’d been completely unstable. It had been such a relief when he let Sebastian inherit and took some time to heal– really heal.

Sebastian had to admit he’d discounted some of Jim’s ravings about what happened to him– you just couldn’t DO some of that in the middle of London– and Jim had gotten Mycroft mixed up with his earlier abuse a lot… he was pulled out of trying to calm Jim down when Sherlock moved in between them and Mycroft.

He was standing in front of Jim, facing his brother, shaking his head, “I can’t let–”

John just sighed, “PLEASE don’t make me call on my military training? You wouldn’t like it; none of you would like it.”

Sebastian started wondering about John again… _how much like Jim was he? He never seemed–_

“I decided that there must be some way to work this out when Jim woke up… God, has it only been two hours?” Mycroft held his hands out carefully. Jim calmed down just a little; empty open hands weren’t a threat.

“I could discount getting information to me about the cabal–because that was Jim, obviously– as being in his own interests: I couldn’t discount his getting me the information that let me rescue Sherlock from Serbia.”

“What?” _He said what?_ “I didn’t know anything about Serbia until–”

“I told you, Mycroft, no one breaks my toys but me!” Jim snarled at him.

Sherlock went very still; Sebastian assumed he was staring at his brother. “Jim…?  Jim told you…?”

 _Jim had known? And he’d contacted MYCROFT?  Even after…?_ Sebastian once again felt like he was running full speed and barely keeping up.

“I received a tip from an unusual information source… I had to verify it of course, but yes, that’s how I found out where you were, why you hadn’t checked in.” Mycroft looked tense and unhappy, but Sebastian couldn’t really read the man in detail.  “The same information source was the one that gave me the Cabal information… and then Jim confirmed it when he woke up…”

Sherlock collapsed.

Sebastian reacted without thinking, letting go of Jim to try to help. John swore and started to move away from the wall.  Mycroft shifted slightly and held a hand out uncertainly… _Those two were so damned messed up…_

Jim got to him first.

~

“Come on, Sherl… You can’t let a bunch of ordinary people take you down.” Jim got down on the floor next to him and pulled Sherlock into his lap. “They’re not worth it.”

“I can’t delete it,” he was whispering, “every time I try…”

“Heh. You try to delete too much, seriously, that’s most of your problem.  C’mon, Sexy, let Sebie get you up off the floor.”

Sebastian pulled both of them up and back onto the bed.  He had that cautious confused look that said he wasn’t sure what was going on.

Jim risked a look at the other two:  Mycroft looked completely poleaxed and John was standing there with his mouth open looking like a goldfish– Jim started to giggle.

“What?” Sherlock twisted around “what are you..?”

“Oh look at their FACES!” Jim couldn’t stop giggling, He took advantage of that long white neck being twisted and stretched trying to look back at him to lick a stripe up it. He felt Sebastian relax just slightly.

“I admit to being more than slightly confused.” Mycroft sighed, and sagged into a chair.

“Switched again.” Said John calmly. “Fast transition and smooth, and the voice patterns are similar, so probably either partly integrated or fairly close to the trace…”

“Where the hell were you when I needed you?” Sebastian had his arms around them both, and was still fairly tense.

“From what I understand? At the other end of your sniper scope.”

“Sebastian was rather firm on the not hurting you, Johnny boy, it’s why I licked you in the pool.”

“CAN we not talk about that right now? One nightmare at a time, please?”

“I had no intention–” Jim started, and John glared at him.  He had an amazing amount of presence when he wanted to–Jim shut up.

“Mycroft, the two people with the most experience with you have been routinely saying you can’t be trusted–pardon: that you can be trusted to behave in a certain way.  My own experience with you tends to back that up.” John held up a hand, “No, not one word, none of you.”

John had shifted his stance–now that Jim was paying attention it was obvious– “Mycroft authorized and oversaw extraordinary interrogation–and in military parlance that means ‘torture but hopefully they can’t prove it’– and Sherlock was at the very least complicit, correct?”

Sherlock nodded, Mycroft simply said calmly, “correct.”

“Rather understandably, after being tortured by Mycroft–doubly so if he thought Sherlock was involved– Jim switched from  the mutual consulting admiration society I saw between the two of them, to destroying Sherlock’s reputation and trying to force him to kill himself, correct?”

“More or less.” Jim admitted.

John looked over his head at Sebastian, “And after they both ‘died’ Colonel?”

“Jim handed everything over to me and spent some time recovering.” Sebie was sighing, “I don’t know everything he did, when he wasn’t with me, and I was trying to manage the web.  My first clue Sherlock was alive was when I noticed something taking pieces of it out and notified Jim.  He said it was probably Sherlock.”

“You knew?” John looked at him calmly, but Jim could see tension.

“Not at first. Molly didn’t tell me…” Jim remembered his utter fury, and then grudging admiration, “She’s a very clever girl, really, and so ridiculously loyal.”

“She helped you fake your death, too?”

“I needed a way to get the Iceman off my back.  If I survived his brother’s death he never would have let up.” Jim shrugged. “If I was dead? There would be no one left to torture.” Jim thought back to it, “I admit, I had hoped Sherlock would find a clever way out– it was always so much fun watching him solve my puzzles…”

“Right. How did you know about Serbia?”

“Well obviously I had contacts there, that’s what Sherlock was following! They were part of the web that Sebastian was letting go–they weren’t very profitable anymore anyway.” Jim shrugged and tightened his grip around Sherlock. “One of them made the usual drop contact about having something interesting–Anyone I’ve dealt with  knows that interesting is worth something to me.”

John just nodded slowly. “Why tell Mycroft?”

“I was dead! It’s not like I could walk in and pick him up!”

John stared at him with an entirely cold, flat stare. _Yes indeed, this wasn’t cuddly, friendly John Watson, this was something else entirely…._

“You had a number of choices, you chose to contact Mycroft. Why?”

“Because I might have sometimes wanted him dead, Johnny boy, but I didn’t really want him broken– or at least, I didn’t want anyone ELSE to break him.” Sherlock was shivering in his arms, and trying to not show it. Sebastian pulled them both in tighter.

John just nodded again. “Whatever you want– and I suspect that’s going to depend on which aspect we talk to, for the MOST part you’re willing to try to let  things settle with Sherlock, especially since he’s with Sebastian, right?”

“Basically.”

"Sebastian isn’t interested in starting things with anyone, he’s simply continuing on with his business and being protective–as he always was. Which leaves the fact that I would DEARLY like to wring Jim’s neck, but I’ve had to deal with that in other cases–”

“Including me.” Sherlock said somewhat apologetically.

“ESPECIALLY you.” for a brief moment the  tactician dropped away and John glared at him. “Half of these problems wouldn’t have BEEN problems if you would just communicate!”

“Yes, well I’m working on it.” Sherlock muttered.

John turned and looked at Mycroft. “Which leaves the entire situation hanging on you, Mycroft.”

“I already said I was willing to try to find some kind of solution.” Mycroft shook his head, “None of you understand what other matters have been complicating this”

“Then explain it.”

“You have to remember that the Cabal included Magnusson…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get overtones of "don't make me angry, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry" from john...
> 
> do forgive my punctuation and grammar, my proof reader has been ill.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine... DEADLOCK..
> 
> yes i know this chapter is jumpy. the conversation is jumpy because no one is happy and everyone is talking over each other.

Anthea was accustomed to being overlooked. She was, after all, simply another secretary–just another assistant–no one to pay attention to.  Mycroft had often encouraged her to take advantage of that, pretending to be playing games on her phone, or engaged in some texting….. Certainly not listening to the conversations around her.

 _The problem,_ she had to admit, _was that Mycroft  assumed she never used the same listening skills on HIM._

He also forgot that he had long ago given her top level access ‘in case of emergency’.

She’d begun accessing everything when Mycroft was kidnapped–mistakenly as it turned out.  She’d had to put everything on hold to come out and meet with Sherlock… and Colonel Moran.  To find out that Jim Moriarty was alive? And that he had most emphatically NOT come out of interrogation unaffected, sent her back into the office with a purpose.

Mycroft had contacted her and told her he was secure–for the moment.  That SHOULD have been enough to back out of the system and wait…But there were things that didn’t add up.

She had already gone through what little he left on his computer and in his papers, now she was going over her memories.

_What have I missed?_

*

Mrs. Hudson did indeed show up with a gun.

“I had one before and had to get rid of it,” she admitted, “After… after someone broke in and threatened me; Sherlock insisted I have one for emergencies.”

“Just remember, we aren’t supposed to shoot anyone where we’re GOING, this is just in case we run into trouble on the way.”

“Why would I be likely to shoot anyone there? Aren’t we going to help Sherlock?”

“He’s…not the only one there.” Molly heard herself start to sniffle, and tried to stop

“Dear? You sound….why you’re FRIGHTENED… what aren’t you telling me?”

“I can’t talk about it. If I try to talk about it I’ll start crying, and then we won’t get there.”

“Is… is Sherlock alright?”

“I don’t know if AYONE’s alright: I only know I won’t be once we get there.”

“Why?”

“I keep falling for the worst people…”

“Oh, honey… let me tell you about my ex-husband…”

*

“I was rather pointedly made aware of Magnussen being part of the cabal; they took it out on me a lot when Sherlock shot him.” Sebastian grumbled, “They were going to use Sherlock to try to get information out of me, but I expect once they didn’t need him anymore it would have gotten worse for him.”

“I wouldn’t have cared.” Sherlock sighed, “They shot me up with the purest heroin I’d ever had and let me crash.”

“Jerry was rather sadistic, even before–” Sebastian cut off as Jim hissed something about shoes.

“Yes, well…” Mycroft sighed and sat back in the chair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Magnussen was blackmailing people.”

John very drily stated, “I think we all know that.”

“Including me.”

John looked startled, as did Sebastian, but Sherlock just nodded, “He wanted me as your pressure point–he was quite clear on it.”

Jim couldn’t help it–he started to laugh. Everyone looked over at him uneasily and he felt Sherlock and Sebastian flinch against him. “No, no, do go on…”

Mycroft kept looking at him for a few moments before continuing, “He had some leverage on me before, Sherlock, you were…additional security. He’d BEEN blackmailing people for years–he didn’t just come out of nowhere, although it took me some time to track it back to him.  Eventually he simply became more confident and allowed me to find out.”

~

“What’s this got to do with us?” John shrugged, “I mean now?”

“You don’t think blackmail can be entirely kept in someone’s head, do you? He had proof, letters, film, all manner of things kept elsewhere that he could retrieve as he needed to.  He may not have needed to call on the hard copy much, with his memory, but some blackmail requires evidence.” Mycroft sighed, “And he had dead drops as well, for the information that was dangerous merely as information.”

“Of course he would.” Sherlock said in disgust. “I take it you’ve been tracking it down?”

“Naturally.”

Jim was settling back against Sebastian and watching Mycroft with a darkly amused look.

“A great deal of my attention, after Sherlock shot him, was taken up with a more urgent need to do the same thing I had been doing before: trying to find his information before any of it got out.”

“One of the other reasons I faked my death,” Jim smiled at Mycroft, all edges, “He didn’t even know who my heir WAS so he couldn’t apply any leverage.”

Everyone turned, or twisted to look at Jim

~

“Do you mean to tell me that snake had blackmail on you?” John sputtered, “What the HELL was he going to blackmail YOU with, that you secretly like kittens?”

Jim cackled, “Well I do–like kittens.”

“Jim?” Sebastian sounded concerned.

Jim turned and licked up the side of his neck, “Nothing you need to worry about, Tiger.  One of the first things I did after my death was start acquiring the evidence.  By the time he was shot I had everything on me, and quite a bit on other people.” Jim paused, “I worried for a moment when his ‘death by sniper’ story came out– I thought it might have been one of ours.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell us what he had on you?” Mycroft asked tiredly.

“and here we are back at the beginning, Iceman– you tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine…”

"You all DO know he switched again, right?” John sighed, “You do that very fast and I’m surprised you were never recruited as a spy.  So who am I dealing with now?”

“Tit for Tat, Johnny boy, who are you?”

“Never mind.” John scrubbed at his face. “Okay, so there was blackmail on Mycroft, even if he wanted more, and there was blackmail on Jim… and WHAT does this have to do with whether or not you can be trusted to  keep a truce, Mycroft?”

“If Jim can help retrieve and secure the information… that’s a critical help to the nation–”

Sherlock sat forward and cut in speaking rapidly, “And that would make him more valuable as a BENEFIT to Crown and Country, as opposed to a threat.”

John could see that, he thought. “Wouldn’t it just make him another threat?”

Mycroft shook his head, “Not if enough other people are holding triggers. Jim could easily setup a dead drop of his own which would make him a threat, but if someone else had a leash on him so that if he used it he suffered too…”

John could see it… “A cascade,” John muttered, “If he uses his leverage, someone uses the leverage against him, but if anyone uses it against him, something goes off against them…”

“That could work…” Sherlock frowned, “but only if the right people have the right leverage.”

“You all already have some valuable leverage,” Jim said calmly. “The fact that I’m a sub and who my heir is–Magnussen never had that.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “A threat to Sebastian is a threat to both of us.”

John looked back and forth thoughtfully, “And a threat to Sherlock is automatically a threat to Mycroft, right?”

Mycroft nodded, “As I said: the situation has changed, drastically.”

John looked thoughtful, “Right now the only leverage any of us have on Mycroft is Sherlock.”

Sebastian nodded, “But that is a lot of leverage.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock snapped. “Jim knows better.  We’ve all found out that my brother has some degree of experience in BDSM; I’m fairly certain that would be uncomfortable at the least.”

“At least that, yes.” Mycroft winced. “Will it allow you to trust that I’ll keep my word?”

“Possibly.” Jim turned to Sherlock and Sebastian, “Sherlock himself is a leverage point. If he breaks his word you release his information… and If Sherlock won’t do it, Sebie, you cut him off cold.” Sherlock flinched.

Jim looked pointedly back over at Mycroft and John, “If anything happens to me, you will have to take out Sebastian. If you take out Sebastian, Sherlock will be severely hurt– that’s not a threat, that’s a fact.”

“As I said,” Mycroft sighed, “the circumstances have changed. I CAN’T casually throw you back in a cell, even if I wanted to, because of what that would do to my brother.”

“Crown and country still win out over me, Mycroft. We both know if it came down to it…”

“Which is why having Jim helping to retrieve the blackmail tips the balance… he becomes more important TO Crown and Country, than against it.”

Jim looked thoughtful, “Alright, Mycroft, I’m in–on one condition.”

“What?” Mycroft asked suspiciously.

“You know far too much about my personal life, I want to know about yours: You keep glancing at Sebastian like he’s cream tea and crumpets– which I’ll grant you he is– but you don’t have that ‘I will put you down’ look you kept aiming at me in interrogation…” Jim smiled wickedly, “For that matter every now and then you looked at me–”

“That’s quite enough.”

John shrugged, “No.”

“No?”

“It’s not ‘enough’. The only way this works is if we have enough understanding of how everyone ticks to be able to predict their behavior.” John stated matter of factly, “Sebastian is easy; Sherlock I know well enough and some things have been made clear; Jim? Well it’s a bit iffy; Mycroft is still less than clear: The more difficult any of you are to predict, the harder it is to trust you.”

“What about you? You seem to be rather more than you appear.”

“No, I’m not. You said it when we MET, Mycroft: my limp vanishes and my hand tremors vanish and I live for the adrenaline– you knew it then.” John shrugged, “I’m a deadly shot, a decent doctor, and generally messed up in civilian life.  I let people walk all over me like Sherlock does, and generally be abusive, and then I get angry about it and instead of walking away it ends up in the same cycle of letting people mistreat me and then blowing up– and that’s  from having a damned messed up childhood full of abuse.” He looked around with a polite and rather fake smile, “Anything else you need to know?”

Sherlock flinched and even Mycroft looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t think I know you as well as I thought, Johnny boy, but I DO know that you won’t do anything that you believe would hurt Sherlock, so I’ll trust that. I still want to know about your military career and how you manage your issues...”

“Official Secrets Act,” John sighed, “and a secure room, and I would be DELIGHTED to have someone to talk to other than the handful of my fellows who are still alive.  Shall we get back to Mycroft?”

“And you think knowing about my SEX life is going to make a difference?” Mycroft sounded very defensive.

“The fact that it makes you that defensive,” Sebastian sighed, “means its leverage, so yes, it would make a difference.”

“If this has anything to do with my having to warn you away from John–” Sherlock said darkly.

“What?!”

Mycroft stiffly replied, “I acceded to your wishes, Sherlock, and never so much as LOOKED at him after that.”

Jim sat forward and desperately wished for popcorn, _this should be GOOD..._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BDSM, LGBTQIA and other alphabet soups that aren't spies.

Mycroft sat quietly with what remained of his tea and dignity as various people were howling about things they shouldn’t even know about.

“Welcome to my world, Mycroft.” Jim said quietly with a smile, as John and Sherlock– with Sebastian occasionally chiming in in confusion– were arguing about his interest in John.

“How is it yours?” Mycroft asked stiffly.

“You sat there talking about how my subbing to Sebastian made a difference in how you viewed me, and you DON’T see it?”

Mycroft winced. _Fine_. “IF you all could stop arguing about my personal life long enough to get the facts?”   _My head hurts already…_

“First of all, my current sex life is very nearly non-existent.  The last time I was trying to make an arrangement to have some time to myself, I got called back for an emergency before I got halfway there and had to turn back- and that was  nearly three months ago.”

Sherlock just nodded, “Your work has always come first, of course.”

Jim looked amused, assuming that meant anything to what he was thinking–Sebastian actually looked fairly sympathetic.

Mycroft rubbed his forehead again and tried not to look at anyone. “Since you insist that this will make a difference… I used to frequent a very discrete club; however that became a problem some time ago as my security needs became more difficult.  I have a handful of hired submissives that have no idea of my real name, or my job, that passed a basic security check that in THEORY I can go see, but in PRACTICE I’ve seen perhaps three times in the last year and a half.” Mycroft was gritting his teeth. “As I am certain most of you are aware, being involved in anything but heterosexual, vanilla, sex is dubious at best for one’s reputation.”

Sebastian nodded, “If you were interested in John then I assume you have issues with both?”

“Luckily for me I’m at least somewhat bisexual.” Mycroft rubbed at his forehead, “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want to hear it,” Sherlock snapped, “But I ALSO don’t want this situation to blow up in our faces once we get back to London.”

“Fine!” Mycroft snapped, “My last long term lover died after selling me– and the country– out to a foreign agent, who was captured and is currently in prison.  As you might understand that’s rather need to know, especially since both of them were men, and more so since we have NO way of knowing what personal information got handed off.”  Mycroft watched everyone but Jim wince: Jim, by contrast, sat there looking like this was grand entertainment.

“When was that?” Sherlock asked him looking completely stunned.

Mycroft told them. 

John whistled quietly– he had somehow managed to fade into the background despite it all– “that’s a long time to go without a relationship– you didn’t strike me as the casual sort.”

“I’m not.” Mycroft sighed, “But how the hell am I going to meet anyone I can trust? Especially after that?”

“Hence the people who don’t know enough to be a problem.” John nodded.

“Precisely.”

“So what was the blackmail? Because that is obviously known to the authorities.”

“As a minor point, I did state that his blackmail wasn’t sufficient– that’s why he wanted Sherlock. Nothing he had on me would destroy me, merely make me hideously uncomfortable.”

Sherlock just snorted, “Moving your towels and leaving a book out of order makes you hideously uncomfortable, Mycroft.”

“Oh? You’d be comfortable with my rearranging your furnishings?”

“BACK to the topic at hand…” John sighed.

Jim shrugged, “So you were doing non-vanilla things with your non-heterosexual lover and then he turned out to be a spy– or at least a security problem– and…?”

John looked thoughtful, “While I am certain that this information going public would in fact be a problem, the authorities already know about it.  As you said, it’s enough to make you uncomfortable, but it certainly explains why Magnussen would need more.”

Jim tilted his head and grinned, “I would think the fact that he was lusting after his baby brother’s flatmate–”

Mycroft snapped, “I had some degree of interest, I hardly call that ‘lusting after’!”

“And you kept looking at Sebastian like he’s all that and a bowl of cream…”

Sebastian sighed, “Are you certain you’re not projecting, Sir? I hadn’t noticed him looking.”

Mycroft  was just thinking to himself that it was very odd to have Sebastian holding Jim in his lap while calling him ‘Sir’ when he saw the calculations  flying across Jim’s face…

~

_Projecting– military dominants– highly controlled very responsible people often sub to relax– obsessive order– definitely dominant the way he talks about submissives but then why such interest in John and Sebastian?–projecting–increasing stress indicating a lack of outlet–surprising sympathy to my subbing–John is able to order him around: he’s responding to that…_

“You’re going to go into sub-drop if you keep repressing it that hard, especially around all these strong military command sorts.” Jim looked sympathetically at Mycroft, “You’re lucky you haven’t. As I said before, Mycroft, welcome to my world: being a dominant is an acceptable thing– people fantasize about it after all– but if word got out that you sub it would be a disaster.” Jim sharpened his smile, “Stalemate.”

~

John was once again wishing he’d more seriously considered Mary’s idea of moving to Australia and setting up a medical practice off somewhere far, far away from everything.

Since everyone seems to respond to it to some degree… he put the full military ‘I expect a report!’ tone in his voice and commanded, “Quiet!” –miraculously everyone shut up.

John pointed at Sherlock who had been yelping at his brother about Sebastian, “YOU be quiet and analyze for a minute.” He stared at Jim– who was not in his pool persona because his eyes flicked away almost instantly–“YOU only say anything if it’s constructive and informative.” He then made a point of staring down Mycroft– and DAMN if the man didn’t look away past him almost instantly.

“Now then, as a reminder, I am MOSTLY familiar with simple BDSM:  you know? handcuffs and maybe a bit of pretending?”

Sebastian nodded, “Role playing.”

“And I mostly have any experience with it because it’s something one of my girlfriends liked, or patients I had to treat were trying to explain to me that; no, I don’t need you to give me the abuse lecture.” John looked around at everyone until he saw nodding.

“One; I think I am missing a lot of things in this conversation, and TWO; I’m beginning to suspect some of you are talking PAST each other, where you think you understand each other but you really don’t.” John leaned back against the wall, “So… I want you, ONE AT A TIME, to explain, in simple terms, what you think is going on with this clusterfuck–”  Jim started giggling and John GLARED at him– Jim pantomimed locking his mouth and putting the key in his pocket– “And only interrupt to correct obvious misstatements.”

John pointed at Sherlock, “We’ll start with you because I’m used to trying to make sense of what you say.”

“What, exactly, do you think needs explanation, John?”

“Why not just go over what you think everyone has been saying about their sex lives and blackmail.”

“Err…” Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable, but finally steepled his fingers– the effect being spoiled somewhat by being held up against Sebastian– and started talking.

~

“Well, I’m apparently a submissive masochist,” Sherlock began, “but the descriptions I’ve read about that don’t line up for me at all.”

“I can’t picture you enjoying being hurt, no.”

Sebastian shook his head, “Not quite. Sherlock is a submissive, but masochist may be too strong a word.  He doesn’t get off on heavy pain; he’s into pressure and the only ‘pain’ he likes is the minimum needed for the endorphin hit.  That’s why we mostly play with ropes and fairly soft flogs. He does have a liking for adrenaline, so I expect he could get into piercing or something, but it’s the MINIMUM needed to get the hit.” Sebastian grinned, “He bruises like a dream though.”

Sherlock coughed faintly and Mycroft had that “why me” look.

“Okay,” John nodded, “So submission doesn’t always equal masochism?”

Sebastian started, “oh… uh, I forget people don’t know that.  NO, the sub/dom dynamic is separate from the sadism/masochism dynamic.  Sub more often goes with masochist and dom with sadist, but there are … uh… exceptions.”

Jim laughed, “Like me.”

Sherlock nodded, “You don’t enjoy being flogged.”

“Amended to ‘if you flog me I flip and kill you’, but yes.” Jim shrugged, “Sebastian might be able to get away with it, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

John sighed and looked at Jim, “So you are a submissive but less of a masochist than Sherlock, who isn’t that much of one?”

“No” said Jim without any further elaboration.

“Err…” Sebastian looked uncomfortable. “Not… exactly.  We never had this discussion. I kept meaning to have the sit down between the three of us, but we never had time…”

“Congratulations,” John said drily, “here’s your time, talk.”

Sebastian glanced at Jim, sighed, and said, “I’m a dominant, but I have no interest at all in sadomasochism.  I’m into bondage, discipline, caretaking, and things like that.  I enjoy flogging Sherlock because he loves it, and it’s what it takes to get him into subspace… not because I like flogging people per se.”

“You do too…” Jim said calmly, “But you like it the same way you like jogging and punching bags. Its exercise and it gets your endorphins up.”

“Hmm…” Sebastian nodded. “Alright, that’s true. Basically I like putting people in subspace, I like taking care of them, I like being in charge of them, and I do like putting people in bondage. I have a caretaker and competency kink, basically. That’s it.  I’m probably the least complicated one here.”

“Sebastian is gay, but choosy,” Jim shrugged, “Oh, and Sherlock is a Demisexual– only gets his sexual interest up if he’s emotionally connected to someone– and I have no idea if it matters about their gender.”

“I think I was interested in Irene…” He said dubiously.

Jim shrugged. “Mycroft has stated that he’s ‘at least somewhat bisexual’, so I assume he means he’s primarily attracted to men, but can be attracted to women.”

John nodded slowly, “In case anyone cares, I’m bi but lean heavily toward women.”

“What!?” Sherlock spluttered.

“I said ‘I’m not gay’, and I’m not: I MOSTLY like women.” John shrugged, “Since it’s not specifically relevant to this discussion, and in any event I am not going out with any of you, I think it can safely be taken as ‘I gave you some information because that’s only fair’. I believe Jim is the only one who hasn’t stated a gender preference.”

“He did, somewhat,” Mycroft said tiredly, “He said he told Molly he was bisexual, however that doesn’t mean he IS; merely that he told Molly that.”

“You always were quick.” Jim looked amused.

“Are you?” John asked tiredly.

“Not really.” Jim looked around and finally shrugged, “At least one of my alters is bisexual, most of us are Asexual, a few are gay, I suppose.  The closest thing to universally true is I don’t see any reason to BOTHER with most people. So what if they’re pretty? Most people have all the interest of a fern.”

John nodded, “Alright, so on the BDSM side of things, you said Mycroft subbed?”

Mycroft winced. “I usually top– I’m usually the dominant– I occasionally subbed.”

“And this is more embarrassing than topping?”

“Obviously!” Mycroft huffed at him.

“I don’t know.” John raised an eyebrow at everyone. “It’s not anything I know about.  I take it that SUBBING is more backmailable than, err…. Domming?”

Jim just smiled at him, “Doctor Watson, most people view submissive as a negative, associated with an inability to command, and a weak will– it’s not true of course, but they do. In addition the BDSM roles typically associated with the bottom are viewed with distaste by most people.  So the short form is that while  a lot of people would find Mycroft, or me, being dominant and topping someone to be unpleasant, it wouldn’t lose us respect or authority, just moral standing.”

Sherlock snorted, “That’s ridiculous.”

Mycroft sighed, “People are ridiculous; however, I need to deal with them.  Magnusson had a photo from my college days of my being the submissive party.  As stated, it wasn’t crippling just unpleasant; after all, you can blame almost ANY college age things on too much to drink and poor choice of companions.”

“So Jim simply said ‘no’ in response to his being a sub who wasn’t a masochist…”

Jim grinned, “Well it turns out Mikey here is my opposite number at least in some ways.”

“What?” Mycroft looked at him dubiously.

“Oh shit… he would be…” Sebastian looked stunned. “I don’t…Mister Holmes… You’re a switch whose PRIMARY interest is in domination? Which is why you were interested in John, and possibly me, because you have an interest in Subbing you can’t normally express?”

“I believe that was stated.” Mycroft had his teeth gritted so hard they might crack.

“Well it wasn’t obvious to me, but none of this is,” Said John with a sigh, “switch?”

“Someone who has both dominant and submissive interests, enough that they might play either side of the scene.” Jim smirked, “I’m a switch, but with my intense aversion to flogs– and the security concerns– there are damn few people I can sub to other than Sebastian.”

Mycroft looked a bit stunned. “That does sound rather similar…”

Sebastian sighed, “In an ideal world Jim would have more of a safe outlet for his dominant and sadistic interests, but–”

Mycroft made an unhappy nose in the back of his throat.

John nodded, “dominant and sadistic makes a lot more sense to me than submissive and masochistic.”

“I don’t have a masochistic bone in my body, which is why Sebie is ideal as a Dom; he has no interest in hurting me, but is very good at taking me down.”

Mycroft was muttering quietly about fate having a despicable sense of humor, when Laz knocked on the door and called in: “The two ladies are here with the van…”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> escape and revelations...

Sherlock got up and walked to the door. “Do I finally get to find out what you threatened poor Molly with to get her cooperation?”

“Probably not,” Jim laughed, “but you can THANK her for not telling me about your plans and actually be CIVIL.”

As they were all coming out into the main room, Sherlock snapped, “Don’t you mean I should be upset that she helped you? We’re friends!”

Jim strolled past him and walked up to Molly. “Hello, Molly dear.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t mind him: he’s an ass, but you knew that.”

She stood there frozen in place with her eyes darting around as though she was looking desperately for an escape route.

“Mrs. Hudson,” John nodded, “thank you for helping.”

“Oh… my…” After staring around at all of them and finally bringing her eyes back to Molly–standing frozen in place with Jim casually putting his arm around her shoulder–she cleared her throat and said, “Well, Molly, I believe you may have beaten my ex-husband…”

“Nonsense, it’s Sherlock with the thing for beating corpses,” Jim snickered.

Sebastian sighed, “Everyone who knows how to use one grab a gun, put everything else away, and let’s get ready to go.”

~

Once they were in the van–Sebastian driving, with Laz riding shotgun–Mycroft tried to watch Molly without obviously staring at her. The problem was she was sitting frozen in place occasionally squeaking out random things like, “I brought a medical kit”, and “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” while her body language was SCREAMING in alternating panic and fear. It was next to impossible to read anything past her overwhelming desire to get away from the situation. Mycroft was fairly certain she considered throwing herself out of the van.

She wouldn’t get a chance, though: Jim had casually pinned her in place by draping his legs over her.

Sherlock was glaring at Jim and occasionally looking confused at Molly.

“Molly was a very brave and stupid girl for not telling me about your arrangement, Holmes,” Jim said finally.

“Which one are you talking to?” Mycroft asked him.

“Both of you: that’s why I said Holmes,” Jim said casually. He had a gun in his shoulder holster and was carving up an apple casually with a knife…

 _There had been nothing fresh in the house…_ “Where… did you get the apple?” Mycroft asked suddenly.

“Molly brought it, of course,” he said calmly.

Mycroft and Sherlock both looked at her and she stared at the floor of the van. “He likes apples,” she said very quietly.

Jim just grinned and ran the knife around the apple in a spiral before putting it away. He pulled the apple apart like a slinky, “Anyone want a piece?”

John sighed, “Cute trick.”

“You should see what I can do with a knife to things besides apples,” Jim grinned.

 _I did NOT need to picture Jim Moriarty with a knife._ Mycroft closed his eyes and hoped his brother’s attention was elsewhere.

~

Mrs. Hudson frowned. “You’re frightening Molly.”

“No, I’m nooot…” Jim sang–like he had at the pool; John twitched.

“I- I’m fine, Mrs. Hudson, I just want to get back to London and… and… not be in the middle of this.”

“That makes at least two of us,” John muttered.

“Why can’t I drive?” Molly asked Jim… and she was asking Jim like she assumed he was in charge.

“Because you don’t have combat driving skills,” Jim said calmly, and then he raised his voice slightly, “Molly needs to be taught evasive driving skills.”

Sebastian sighed from the front, “Tough to find a good instructor.”

“Mycroft had one.” He glanced over at Mycroft. “So? Get Molly trained in evasive driving.”

“I’ll put it on the list,” Mycroft muttered, “right after ‘re-order all the scotch I’m going to drink’.”

John immediately spoke up, “Somebody owes me a bottle of the good stuff.”

“Yes, well, you owe me an explanation!” Sherlock snapped.

“I already told you–”

“Children!” Sebastian’s voice cut through everything. “Pipe down.”

Jim snickered. After they’d been driving in silence for a while, Jim suddenly spoke up again, “Next left.”

Sebastian turned the van and then asked, “Why?”

“I may have taught you everything you know about the network and our safehouses, Sebie, but that doesn’t mean I taught you everything I know. Assuming no one got uppity, there’s a garage with spare cars.”

Several people breathed a bit easier at the idea of separating.

After driving for a while, and a few more turns here and there, they pulled up to an obviously occupied house.

“Now what?”

Jim hopped out of the car. “Get out here!” he snarled in the direction of the house.

An older man came out wiping his hands on a rag. “Aren’t you dead?”

“Obviously not. I need a couple of cars.”

“Got one good one and one… well…”

“Ugh. Fine, let’s see.”

The man walked them over to the back of the house where there were six or seven cars in varying states of repair. The garage was evidentially the repair shop. Both cars looked inconspicuous and somewhat battered–the man began explaining the faults in one of them that were still unrepaired. Sebastian started talking about who could ride in which car, and who would take the van, and we can split up here so we won’t be at risk…

“You were holding out on me!” Jim cried suddenly and there was the distinctive sound of a motorcycle.

“Oh, God…” Sebastian put his head down.

“Problem?” John asked.

“I’ve seen him drive a motorcycle… not safe doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Jim brought the bike around. “You can run along in the cars, I’ll get myself home!” he said hopping off the bike and looking like a teenager.

“Jim, Sir, please? You were injured, you really should rest…”

Jim gave him a manic grin and started to say something when he was interrupted abruptly by Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll take that, young man.”

“What?” he blinked and she was holding out her hand firmly. Rather dubiously he handed her the keys, “Whyyyyy….??”

She swung onto the bike and nodded at John and Sherlock, “Make sure you eat, boys.” She started the motorcycle expertly and took off in a squeal of tires, angling around the curve of the drive as she accelerated.

Sherlock said, “She used to own a motorcycle, and before that she rode behind her husband. Got rid of it when she settled down because she couldn’t use it to get groceries.”

Jim stood there blinking. “She took my motorcycle? She took my motorcycle! How did she do that?”

“Mrs. Hudson is magic.” Sherlock grinned at him.

“I thought that was just the baked goods? And the herbal soothers?”

John shook his head, “I had no idea she ever had a motorcycle, but… uh… I make it a point to never argue with her.”

Sebastian simply said firmly, “I don’t care. She just probably saved your life, Sir: you don’t drive safely when you HAVEN’T been shot.”

Jim seemed inclined to lean on the van and sulk while Sebastian finished getting people settled in cars.

Mycroft looked at Jim thoughtfully, “We obviously need to meet to discuss things, and I notice you haven’t picked a car–I presume you are traveling in the van?”

“Obviously,” Jim grinned. “Someone has to escort Molly back.”

Sherlock started to say something and Molly quietly said, “I’ll be fine, Sherlock, just get Sebastian to someplace to rest.”

A van and two cars left heading back to London.

*

Mycroft was in a car with John–his brother going with Laz and Sebastian of course, both a hostage against any attack and rightfully traveling with his lover.

“Will Molly be safe?” John asked.

“Ah, you couldn’t see it?”

“See what?”

“Molly is Jim’s: it became obvious when I saw them together.”

“Jim’s what?”

“Jim’s sub–his submissive–like Sherlock to Sebastian.”

“Molly?!” John sputtered. “Sherlock said she was being blackmailed–he’s forcing her to–”

“No,” Mycroft sighed. “My brother assumed that the hold Jim had over her was something else–it’s not.”

“But… She looked terrified! Not at all like Sherlock!”

“Some people enjoy fear, doctor: adrenaline cures a lot of tremors and anticipation of battle is a drug–don’t you think?”

“Oh, hell…”

“Exactly.”

John suddenly turned to look at Mycroft very thoughtfully, “The knife–you looked away.”

“As I said, I have some interests in addition to my dominant ones…”

They got to Anthea without incident, and were whisked away to security–and, John hoped, showers.

*

Sherlock was quiet for as long as he could be, but eventually he had to start talking. “I… I didn’t want Jim HURT, I just wanted John safe.”

“Not now, Sherlock. We need to have that discussion but absolutely not now,” said Sebastian.

They drove in silence until they got to another safehouse. Once Sherlock was inside he asked very quietly, “Will Molly be safe?”

“She’s been safe before.”

“Jim… didn’t look safe.”

“Sherlock… you really haven’t known him that long. I have. Molly is probably the safest person to be near him right now after me.”

Sebastian looked at Laz, “How long can that prisoner be left where he is?”

“Assuming he doesn’t go into shock or anything? Another day I guess? Probably be best if someone took him water and checked on him.”

“Not you: you’re wiped. Get one of the men to do it, we may need to question him.” Sebastian paused and grinned. “Sherlock? Call your brother and ask him if he’d like to interrogate one of the gang that kidnapped him.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but flash a quick smile. “That doesn’t take much thought.” He called Mycroft.

*

Jim didn’t say a word to Molly until the other cars were long out of sight. He named an intersection, “Drop me off there, and go return the van–you know where to meet me.”

“Yes, Jim.”

She returned the van and slipped out immediately to the tube. She slipped from one station to another, doubling back and picking crowds of people taller than she was–easy enough–to arrive at a nondescript machine shop. She used her key to open the back door and locked it carefully behind her. Her heart was in her throat as she went down the dim concrete stairs into the basement.

The first room was just machinery and equipment–although it looked menacing enough. The old door labeled “Pipes”, however, had a combination lock with the numbers worn off: it looked old and neglected. She entered the combination by muscle memory and went in, closing the door, keeping her head down.

“Strip.”

“Yes, Jim.” She put her shoes on the tray, and slid her feet into the little ballet flats. She took off her clothes the way he liked, neatly and without fuss, and put them in the cabinet near the door. She walked over to the spotlighted circle in the room and stood waiting.

“Such an obedient pet… even with Sherlock there…” Jim’s voice was dark and amused, but he didn’t sound angry…

“Did you want him?” he asked.

“Yes.” She knew better than to lie.

Jim walked over; she kept her eyes on the floor. “Poor Molly, you’d be better off chasing Mycroft, you know–he was watching you.”

“He was?!” Her heart rate jumped. “I didn’t notice… He… Why?”

“He likes people to be frightened, Molly, and he was wondering why you were dealing with me… I think he knows.” Jim whispered that last part as he walked slowly around behind her.

She moaned quietly and then cringed as she felt wetness drip between her legs.

“Of course, you’re so desperate for attention; so very, very willing to let Sherlock abuse you and put you down…” Jim’s hand slipped around her throat. “But Sherlock doesn’t want you… He won’t even grant you a pity fuck, not even after all you did for him…” Molly was crying in earnest now.

“And you still were panting after him like a bitch in heat.”

“Yes, Jim, I’m sorry.”

“Sherlock likes the riding crop, doesn’t he?”

“Y- Yes…”

“Fetch one, and bend over the bracing….” Jim trailed a hand down her back. “And if you are very, very lucky–once you’ve been suitably chastened and the blood is hot under your skin–I MIGHT let you come.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor naive Sherlock... sigh  
> this is a bit of a bridge chapter with various people getting settled back in London (and me getting my writinggroove back on)

Mycroft was delighted to get the phone call from Sherlock offering up one slightly battered Serbian cabal member. He sent his best men to go pick him up and had Anthea–and the handful of other trusted people–hunting moles the entire time. Interrogating him had to be limited to a handful of people, of course: he had seen Moriarty, after all.

“So what’s going on?” John Watson’s voice startled him. _Oh yes, he’d gone to shower and rest a bit._

“The man that Laz and… Jim… captured. He will be here for interrogation shortly.”

John sighed, “I suppose you want me to check him over?”

“It actually hadn’t occurred to me, but it would likely be best, and I do not know how far I can trust my usual medical people.”

“For the record, I won’t torture anyone,” John said casually, “but I will HURT someone.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Where do you consider the difference?”

“It’s like porn: I know it when I see it.” John sighed, “But basically? Threats are fine, punching someone is fine, manhandling and pressure points are fine. Long-term stress and pain I won’t participate in–waterboarding or suspension, for instance–and deliberately doing anything that cripples someone is not something I’m comfortable with.”

Mycroft stared at him for several long beats. “Something you’ve had to consider?”

“When you need to know RIGHT NOW whether that road is mined, that position has a sniper, or your missing friends are alive, you have to decide fast how much you’re willing to do to get an answer. When your superiors want a doctor on call because they were asking questions of people, you find out how far other people are going.” John paused and then said quietly, “I usually made what I think was the right decision–sometimes not.”

“Another thing not in your files.”

“There is a great deal that is not in anyone’s files because no one is stupid enough to document it. The rest? Well, you’d have to know to ask for the right level of clearance and the right files, or be able to read the bonus pay.”

Mycroft sat back. “You know that that first time I picked you up and tried to threaten you was because I was concerned for my brother.”

“I have no idea why you did that, actually. It was pretty shitty–especially with my PTSD.”

“A medical doctor with injuries–mental health issues and psychosomatic injuries, at that–whose records list a rather unexpected skill set with knives, explosives, and guns? And he suddenly shows up and moves in with my brother?”

John smiled, “You thought it was a setup?”

“There were two possibilities of concern: it was a setup, or it wasn’t. If it was not? Well, a soldier with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder who is evidently quite lethal sharing a flat with my brother who keeps body parts in the fridge and is aggravating enough that normal people routinely want to throttle him? I needed to know how easily you could be provoked.” Mycroft muttered, “I still never expected you to last a week.”

John laughed. “To be honest, the fact that Sherlock was combat capable and aggressive was what convinced me to take it. I figured if I did come up from a nightmare in combat mode he could get out of the way.” He paused. “And… he didn’t seem likely to notice that I was odd.”

Mycroft blinked at him several times. “Didn’t seem likely to notice…”

“Sherlock–and you, for that matter–are so very odd yourselves that my oddities tend to slip under the radar.”

There really wasn’t anything Mycroft could say to that.

~

Jim brought the riding crop down across Molly’s ass with a practiced stroke, and then slid it gently along the mark left by the previous strike. It always amazed him that people could enjoy this. Frankly a riding crop was pushing his own limits, but being on the right end of it helped… Molly would probably love being flogged properly, but he couldn’t do it.

“Hands behind your back.”

She took her hands off the brace and put her hands properly behind her. Jim smiled and started lacing rope–he loved rope. He wondered if Sherlock knew he’d taught Sebastian? Probably not…

He laced her carefully and activated the winch: she left the ground slowly, whimpering but breathing easily. He brought the other rope over and began knotting it around her leg and across.

Eventually, she was lying fully supported in midair with one leg bent back and folded under her, and one leg in the air. He spent a few minutes just walking around her, admiring.

Without warning, he brought the riding crop down on the inside of her thigh: she shrieked–more startlement than any pain.

“Really Molly…” He just let his voice slide into chiding and walked around her again. Her head was back and down–she must be getting a head rush– and her eyes kept trying to follow him.

Jim carefully checked her condition as he trailed his hands over her: her breathing was ragged and she was gasping, but no difficulties; her circulation was good and her pupils were large; a flush was starting across her breasts and her stomach from excitement and arousal–and embarrassment.

Molly got so turned on by humiliation and fear.

“All trussed up.” Jim trailed his hand over the tangle of hair between her legs. “Hmmm…” He got out a wet cloth, the cream, and his straight razor: she couldn’t see him, of course. He carefully prepared the area. “You’d best hold very still, Molly,” he said as he walked around to where she could see him. He held up the straight razor and began stropping it carefully on a leather.

Molly’s eyes went wide and she started babbling, “Jim, no… Oh God... Don’t…”

“Shhhhhh…” Jim leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. “Just… hold very still…”

He went back and started shaving the hair away carefully while she trembled violently and almost stopped breathing.

~

Sherlock didn’t know what else to do, so, once they had called Mycroft and arranged the hand-off, he simply folded himself down at Sebastian’s feet, trying to make himself small and quiet.

After a short time, Sebastian sighed, “Get up here,” and held out an arm. Sherlock scrambled onto the chair and curled up next to him.

“I… I was just trying to protect John…”

“Yeah, I know. You had no way of knowing that he was safe.” Sebastian sighed, “Can you just… It’s been a shock for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Eventually, Sebastian turned on the television and they watched a documentary. Sebastian couldn’t have told you what it was about–really, it was just noise–and he dozed off and on.

When the show ended, they sat there quietly until Sherlock asked, “Would… would you let me?” He put a hand gently on Sebastian’s waistband button.

“I can’t really move much, Sherlock… I was already hurting and now I’m exhausted on top of it.”

“So don’t move.” Sherlock slid to the floor and started undoing his trousers. Sebastian laid his head back and let himself relax into the sensations of mouth, hands, mouth…

There was a faint cough that brought Sebastian up quickly, only to relax almost immediately. “Sir.”

Sherlock had jerked back abruptly–luckily without biting–and was staring at Jim.

 _Jim looked different…_ Sherlock thought over it again: _he looked quite a bit more like the Jim Moriarty who had been there when… when he first turned up._ Sherlock sat back and looked questioningly at Sebastian.

“Well, we’re not in the bedroom,” Sebastian said calmly to Sherlock, and then to Jim, “I’m still exhausted, and–”

Jim made a “stay” gesture with one hand and walked through to the kitchen. “Tea?”

“Thank you, yes,” Sebastian called back.

When Jim came back with a tray of tea and a bit of snacks, he just waved at Sherlock and Sebastian to stay put. “Sebastian needs his rest, and I rather expect you feel more comfortable on your knees right now–damned odd, if I’d only known…”

Sherlock accepted the tea cup. “I don’t see how you could have, I didn’t know…. and I don’t… I don’t have any interest in submitting to you…” Sherlock sighed, “or most anyone else, really.”

Jim shrugged. Sitting across from Sebastian, he leaned back and crossed his leg; Sherlock had a momentary recollection of tea in the flat. Sherlock asked, “How is Molly? Is… Sebastian said she was safe?”

“Molly?” Jim blinked down at him. “You don’t…” He looked at Sebastian and quickly took the tea cup out of his hand. “You almost dropped it…”

“Sorry, sir, I’m exhausted–I did say that.”

“Sleep–and not on the sofa. Come on, bed. Sherly and I will come back and have tea and chat.”

“Don’t kill each other?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Come on.”

Sherlock and Jim managed to get him peeled out of his clothes and tucked into bed. “Come on, Sherlock, a bit of something to eat and some cream with tea in it and then we can go keep him company.”

Sherlock felt better sitting up on a chair across from him. “Memories,” Sherlock sighed.

“You were being petty, handing me the tea cup wrong way ‘round.” Jim smiled.

“You were threatening my friends–I felt petty.”

Jim paused thoughtfully. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

It took a while for Sherlock to work up the nerve to ask, “Molly?”

“Safe, sound… tucked into her bed…” Jim cocked his head at him. “Did you honestly think I would hurt her?”

“I have no idea.”

“She’s MY sub, Sherlock…”

Sherlock’s tea cup clattered on the saucer as he stared at Jim. “What?”

“You… honestly didn’t GET that?” Jim laughed.

“No…” Sherlock’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “MOLLY?!”

“…IS a masochist of the highest order, who gets off on humiliation and fear–and honestly would love a few things I can’t give her.” Jim smirked, “She’d probably love to be tied up and flogged like you are, but she’d love it MORE if you were sitting there making comments…” Jim shrugged. “You hit all of her buttons, really, treating her like your servant.”

“Molly?” Sherlock waved a hand. “OUR Molly? The… the sweet girl from Bart’s? The one you were terrorizing?!”

“She likes being terrorized and ordered around.” Jim shrugged. “Her deepest, darkest fantasies probably revolve around the two of us keeping her as a slave and occasionally–”

Sherlock winced. “How… how did…”

“How did you miss it? Probably the same way I did at first, because it isn’t something either of us thinks about: that being treated with derision and dismissal–at least by someone she’s turned on by–is a kick. You just kept…” Jim smirked, “Always foreplay and no payoff. Once I saw how she reacted to you… after she ‘dumped me’ as sweet caring Jim from IT? I showed up at her home to find out why things didn’t add up.”

“We… didn’t tell her about you.” Sherlock saw it: Molly letting ‘Jim’ into her flat, not knowing he was dangerous.

“Oh, I know… She was genuinely angry about that–you risked her life not telling her, after all. You should have had twenty-four-seven security on her since she’d seen me–spent time with me–once you knew.”

Sherlock almost crumpled. “Yes… yes, I should. I… I didn’t think about it.”

“You don’t generally think about other people, Sherlock: you’re insanely self-absorbed.”

“The problems of an addict–we generally are,” Sherlock said into his tea.

“I had her tied up and begging that night…” Jim looked off amused, “I don’t usually get off on girls, but for her I make an exception–that, and I don’t have to actually fuck her to get her off, usually.”

“You flog her? No… you couldn’t, could you…”

“Ropes, threats, a soft hand and a dangerous voice… that usually does it.” Jim shrugged. “A riding crop or a spanking when I’m in a good mood… knives, today–well, my straight razor.”

Sherlock stared at him. “You CUT her?”

“Not this time–I have–no, this time I just…” he smiled in a predatory fashion at Sherlock and dropped his voice into a purring threat, “had her tied up, suspended, helpless…wide open for me… and I slowly drew the razor over her…” Jim watched the blue of Sherlock’s eyes being swallowed up by black as his pupils dilated. “I shaved her while she quivered and tried not to move–the slightest slip and she would have been bleeding–but I’m very good with a knife…”

Jim sat back abruptly and sipped his tea. “She had fun.”

“Ah…” Sherlock swallowed. “Yes… Well… I don’t think I could trust you that far…”

Jim smirked, “No, certainly not… but you want to.”

“So!” Sherlock got up and rubbed his hands briskly. “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh, it has… and Sebie will try to get up early unless someone keeps him in bed.”


End file.
